Survivor's Guide – How to not die in Supernatural
by Rico91
Summary: A student wakes up on the back seat of a car, kidnapped by two perverts - or so she thinks until she finds out her "kidnappers" are Sam and Dean Winchester, the two main characters of her favourite TV show. But how exactly is she going to get back home?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So hi everyone, and thanks for at least opening my fanfic. This is a first one I write about Supernatural and my very first on to be written in English. So please, bear with me, if I had made some mistakes in spelling, though I've tried my best not to have any errors.**

**But I hope you enjoy my story. ^-^**

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**Chapter 1: Do not go alone in dark place and yell "Hello, is someone there?"**

I am sitting on my chair staring at the black screen of my computer. Just a minute or so ago the latest episode of _Supernatural_ ended and I find myself thinking – and not for the first time – how the hell are the Winchester brothers still alive and kicking.

Like, seriously, they have actually died several dozens of times, they have both been in Hell – literally – and they have serious trust issues with each other. They have the most loveable – seriously, Crowley is _hot_ – bastard-demon hunting their asses and they actually go out looking for trouble with all possible kinds of creatures that would love nothing more than to see their guts spread all over the place.

And yet I love the show. You got to admit, that the brothers are really, really adorable and cool. Still dreaming about Sam and Dean and _stuff_ I open my web browser and click my way to Tumblr. I type "supernatural" and hit the search button. In the middle of normal Sam/Dean- and Destiel –pictures something catches my eye. I click the rather modest looking image. Sadly is does not have any cute or hot pictures of the characters but it has a rather interesting list.

**How to not die in Supernatural**

1. Do not go alone in dark place and yell "Hello, is someone there?"

2. Whatever you think you saw is probably out there, so be careful.

3. Grab anything that could be used as weapon, preferably something made out of iron.

4. Find salt. More the better.

5. When the Winchester brothers finally show up, do exactly as they tell you to do, even if it sounded really crazy.

6. Find more salt.

7. Do not fuck with Sam. Even if it surely would be really awesome. But really, Sam's lovers die. A lot.

I chuckle as I read the final advice. _That is so true_, I think to myself and wonder whether I would be able to follow that rule if I had a chance.

I yawn and lay my eyes on my watch. My eyes blink. The digital numbers must be lying or I have totally lost count of time. I hit the red cross to close Tumblr and shut down my computer then rush to brush my  
teeth. 02.30am. This means another really, really hard day at school. Great.

Don't get me wrong. I actually have pretty good grades, I only have a problem with getting enough sleep, and otherwise I manage pretty well. I climb to my bed and close my eyes.

Before I fall asleep something startles me. I hear a loud bang. Great, all I now needed was an interruption to my sleep by a friend of mine who lives few doors down the hall from me. She often comes by in the middle of the night, and when she comes her usual excuse is that she's bored or drunk. Or both. I really don't want to shorten my already too short sleep, so I pull the blanket over my head and pretend I didn't hear anything.

Banging continues and I wish she would go away. Then banging turns into loud screams.

"Hello?" I yell. "You 'kay?" Nevertheless she is disturbing me in the middle of the night, she is my friend and I want to know whether she is alright.

No answer.

"Anna, are you okay?" I'm starting to be really worried.

Screaming stops and for a while everything is completely silent. Then something scratches my door. First really gently, almost like petting. Then more forcefully, until it sounds like a wild cougar was trying to come through my door. Or a horde of rats was climbing in the walls.

"Stop it!" I scream. "Who's there?"

Then I feel a pain in my ears and the back of my neck and everything goes black.

xoxoxox

For millionth time Sam assured Dean he was alright, but as soon as Dean turned his gaze back to the road Sam's smile faded. Sam grunted and suddenly he tasted blood in his mouth. Sam coughed and quickly wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth before Dean would notice it and ask whether he was REALLY okay. He didn't want to go over the discussion again.

Dean tightened his grip on the wheel and stepped on it. The Impala hummed obediently and accelerated slightly. It was dark outside and the road was empty and he was pissed at his brother. Speeding through the nocturnal road seemed like a good way to blow off some steam. Dean peered quickly at the rear mirror. Then he blinked. Twice. And he hit the brakes as forcefully as he could.

"What the hell, dude?" Sam yelled still clutching to the dashboard as the Impala stopped on the side of the dark road.

Dean stared out of the front window and the eye of his that Sam could see twitched.

Suddenly Dean grabbed his gun and faced Sam. "There is someone", he said with husky voice.

Sam frowned. "What?"

"On the back", Dean answered and pointed his gun to the back seat.

xoxoxox

I wake up because I'm rammed into something. I open my eyes, still feeling dizzy and tired. I'm not sure what happened but somehow I'm sure I'm not in my bed as I should. Somehow I also have this feeling I'm somewhere I'm not supposed to be. I shake my head to arrange my thoughts and slowly, really slowly, I open my eyes. Just to find out I'm staring at right into a barrel of a gun. It takes me few seconds to realize that is a really bad thing, but when I finally do I scream. And that was not one of those nice screams you hear in movies and in TV, no, I mean I really screamed. Like a baby. Or a dog being tortured.

"Son of a bitch!" Someone cries and I'm not sure who. I realize I have started crying, so I wipe my eyes with my right hand. Then I tear my gaze of the gun and let my eyes follow the hand holding it, up to the face that looks strangely familiar to me.

I'm also starting take notice of my surroundings. I'm sitting on the backseat of a car with two men in front, one aiming me with the gun another pointing me with a really nasty-looking knife. Needless to say, I start crying again.

"Please," I manage to whisper, "take me home and I won't, really, go to police…" My voice is shaky and the whole situation makes me feel terrified. Somewhere in the back of my head I have the feeling this won't end well, and those two – probably psychopaths, since they have kidnapped me from an apartment that shows I don't have anything valuable to trade with them – are going to hurt me and toss my body somewhere where no one will ever find it. My hands are shaking as I wrap them around me.

"What the hell are you?" one of the men – one with the gun – demands.

"A demon? A ghost, perhaps?" the other clarifies and tightens his grip on the knife.

For a second or two I forget my fear and stare at them. I want to tell them they are crazy and I'm a mere student that has no idea what is going on, but I don't trust my own voice. "What?" I finally manage to ask.

"C'mon, people don't just appear on backseats," the gunman chuckles. "What are you and more importantly, what the heck are you doing in MY car?"

I burst in tears again.

xoxoxox

"Just please, take me home," I ask for the millionth time. I sit on an uncomfortable couch in some late night roadside diner. I've got a mug of coffee, which tastes really tarry, in front of me. I have barely taken a sip of it and I stare at my hands. The knifeman – I have named them as the gunman and knifeman – inhales as he's about to say something, but he's interrupted. The lady, who works at the diner, looks really bored – or maybe she's just tired – as she comes to the table and asks whether we already know what we'd like to have.

I know what I'd like. I'd like to scream for help, ask her to call 911 and tell her I've been kidnapped, but I'm way too terrified to do any of that. And I'm afraid that the gunman would shoot me if I tried. So I say nothing and continue staring at my hands. These guys must be insane. And perverted, since I'm not wearing my pajamas anymore, they must have changed my clothes as I was unconscious. Fuck, my thoughts are really unorganized.

The gunman looks up to the lady and cracks an engaging smile. In some other circumstances I would have considered him to be handsome. "Sure thing, honey. We'd like to have three slices of that delicious lookin'  
cherry pie. And some more coffee, if you don't mind."

The waitress smiles back at him. "Coming right up! You have an excellent taste, sir, the cherry pie is absolutely delicious."

"Is that so?" the gunman asks, still smiling. As the waitress turns her back on him, the smile fades. "As I was about to say, lady," he starts staring at me. I feel my cheeks blushing and I don't raise my head to meet his eyes. "I've no idea what's your game, but I'm not buying it. You tell us this instant what the hell is going on or I guarantee this will get nasty."

I squeal. I have no idea what he means by nasty, and I really don't even want to. I inhale to speak. The knifeman frowns as he looks at me with curiosity, tilting his head slightly. "Dean..." he says carefully. Impatiently the gunman – Dean? – glances at him.

"What?"

The knifeman clears his throat. "I don't... think she knows anything. Look at her; she's terrified."

Great. Now they are all good cop, bad cop on me. Well, good felon and bad felon could be more accurate.

The knifeman returns his eyes back to me. He runs his fingers through his rather long, curly hair. "Listen, I have no idea what's going on, but my name is Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean."

Dean snorts.

"We just want to find out what is happening."

Suddenly my eyes widen. "Wait, what?" I manage to gasp. "W-w-Winchester?"

"Knows anything my ass," Dean chuckles and reaches his pocket in which I know the gun is. I lean against the back of the couch to get as far as possible from him.

Luckily that is then the pies arrive. "Here you go!" the waitress says and wishes us good appetite and tells us to call her if there was anything more we needed. The knifeman, Sam freaking Winchester thanks her and off she goes. Again.

Dean fucking Winchester leans towards me. "Talk," he says and looks so angry I want to cry. Again. Luckily I seem to be out of tears. I had this feeling for some time that my kidnappers looked familiar to me. But seriously, since when TV-stars started running around kidnapping people? Apparently they have something really wrong with their minds, since something really looks off to me. Maybe they have been playing their roles for too long and something just snapped? My voice shiver only a bit as I start talking: "Winchesters, really?" There is so much wrong with this whole setup I can't help myself but I burst in laughter.

"I'm done with this crap," Dean states and reaches his pocket again. Instead of the gun he pulls out a flask. Before I even know what's happening he opens it and spills water over me. I laugh again, and "the brothers" look really confused. Apparently they fail to see the same comedy in this that I see. "Holy water, really?" I cough and wipe tears out of the corners of my eyes.

"Apparently not a demon," "Sam" says as "Dean" puts the flask back in his pocket. I don't know what else to say. I doubt these crackers would believe me if I told them they are not real. In fact, they would probably think I was the nutcase here. And another fact is that I'm still scared of them, actually even more now that I knew who they are. Or who they THINK they are. I have watched enough Supernatural to know what they are capable of. "First I need to know why you kidnapped me," I say warily, "then I'm willing to tell you anything you want to know." I think it is best to play their game and cooperate with them. If they really are like Sam and Dean Winchester, they would not harm an innocent non-possessed human; after all they already confirmed I wasn't a demon.

"Dean" stops a fork full of the cherry pie half way to his already open mouth and "Sam" looks confused too. "You think WE kidnapped you?" he asks me same time as "Dean" drops his work on the plate with a loud ping. "Lady, you are the one who invaded MY car!" he declares and picks his fork up again. He puts the piece of pie in his mouth and devours it, staring at me the whole time.

I sigh. They were even crazier than I thought. Suddenly I realized this could end really badly, since they are that delusional. They would probably come up with some twisted theory about what I am. And then they could actually kill me. I shiver. This is insane, I decide, and I really want to go home.

"Sam" is the first one to speak. "We need figure out what is going on," he says, "so you need to tell us everything you know. You apparently know about demons. Are you a hunter?"

I shake my head.

"Then, how do you know us?"

Here we go. I have no idea what to answer him. If I told them the truth they would not believe me. If I tell them nothing they will consider me to be dangerous, I suppose. My head spins as I try to figure out something to say. Luckily before I say anything, "Dean" stands up. "A word, Sam? Will you excuse us?" I get the feeling the question is very rhetorical but I nod anyways.

xoxoxox

"What?" Sam asked Dean as they had walked far enough from the table, so that the girl could not hear them.

"I don't like this at all, Sam," Dean said, "as far as we know, she could be anything. Anything, Sam! We don't have time for this now, we have God's tests to pass and some Hell gates to close, remember?"

Sam scoffed. "But we don't know about the next test yet, Kevin still hasn't cracked the next one, huh? Mean while we need to do our best and do what we always do."

Dean looked like he didn't like what Sam was saying at all, but he didn't go against him. "If that's what you think," he said and shrugged. "So what do you think about her?" He nodded his head towards the table where the girl sat still, staring at her piece of the pie like it could bite her if she tried to eat it.

"I don't know," he admitted. "We should speak to her and try to find out whether she knows anything."

xoxoxox

As "the Winchesters" walk away from me I hope they'd go so far I could run out of the door without a fear of getting caught. But by change or experience they stay near enough to catch me if I tried anything. So all I do is sit still. Once or twice I glance at them. They look rather calm to me; at least they are not fighting now.

I snort. Somehow I feel like I know them. I decide I must to try to remember every detail I possibly can from Supernatural to evaluate them if I want to survive. I just hope I hadn't read that much fanfiction; some details I remember might not be "real". As if any of this was really real.

The two men return to our table, sitting on the opposite side of the table from me. I get this feeling I'm being interrogated. "And don't tell me you are feds, I know the badges are fake." The sentence slips from my lips before I have time to think further. I'd like to slap my own face for being stupid. They don't say anything, only stare at me. Silence is heavy and I know I must say something soon. I only wish I knew what to say.

"Well?" "Dean" looks straight into my eyes, and suddenly I know exactly what kind of story I'll tell them.

xoxoxox

Again I sit on the backseat of the Impala – seriously, these dudes even managed to get their hands on real '67 Impala, I guess being a wealthy actor really has some privileges. Dean sits behind the wheel and stares out of the window and Sam takes a seat next to him, altering his gaze between me and Dean. The car still stands on the parking lot in front of the diner. Few moments ago I concluded my story, in which I told them I'm a student at Iowa State University. I have told them about Supernatural, a TV series I'm watching. I also told them that is why I know the Winchester brothers so well, but I knew them as actors, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki. So basically I want them to believe I'm from other reality, such as in that episode in 6th season, so that they would believe me. Maybe they'll think it is an angel-thing.

"So what do you think?" "Dean" asks "Sam". "Is this an angel-thing?"

"Sam" shrugs. "I dunno. Maybe. Maybe we should try to get hold of Cas?"

"Dean" shakes his head. "That's no use, he's not answering," he says and sighs. "Sam" faces me again. "So," he starts slowly, "what is the last thing you remember?" I stop to think for a moment. "I'm not sure," I finally say, "I was sleeping, I guess."

"Nothing out of ordinary?" "Sam" persists and stares at me. I want to giggle in most fangirlish way, since he looks at me with his best puppy eyes. But I restrain myself and shake my head. "Sam" sighs and turns to face "Dean" again.

I really need to stop thinking about them as Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles. I get so confused every time they call each other's "Sam" and "Dean", since I keep imagining them doing the quotation marks in the air as they do so. Then I suddenly remember something else. "No, wait," I say and push my fingers against my forehead, "there is something." I strain my memory to remember. I know there is something I can't quite recall. "There was this noise..." I start but I don't know how to continue, as if all the details were running from me.

Both men turn simultaneously around and ask in unison: "What kind of noise?"

I blink. "I'm not sure," I say and knit my brows. "It was like... Knocking. And kind of patter..."

"Like rats in the walls?" Dean asks and leans forward.

I nod.

"Great," Dean sighs, "demos." Sam nods besides him.

I snort. Obviously there are "demons". The best for me now would be that they'd decide to "investigate" "the new case" and take me home. I frown again. "There is something else, too," I say, "There was also this loud, ear-aching sound." I gasp. "Angel talk?" I ask as if that wouldn't have occurred to me before.

Someone should give me a freaking Academy Award, my performance is PERFECT.

"Possibly," Sam says contemplatively. "But why would be angels and demons interested in you? Did you make a crossroads deal or something?"

"As I would be that stupid!" I exclaim bit miffed.

"Aaw, you would be surprised how many people do that," Dean says to me and then adds to Sam: "Is she a future prophet?"

Sam shrugs. "Possibly. If Cas was here..."

"...But he isn't," Dean interrupts him, sounding a bit irritated, "so we need to figure out this ourselves." Sam bites his lip so that he would not start another argument, or that is what I think. "What should we do?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Dean scorns and starts the engine, "we go to Ohio."

I smile. Mission success.

xoxoxox

I am surprised how far we already were. It must have been days since they kidnapped me, since it took us three days to get back to Ohio. I'm sure my friends and my family are already freaking out because they haven't heard a word from me. These three days have been rather awkward. We have been driving in silence, eating in silence and sleeping in silence. Since I don't have my purse with me, or anything else except the clothes I'm wearing, they have been paying for everything. And even in this detail they are like real Winchesters; they don't have much money, and for that reason we have been living in one motel room. They were gentlemen, though, and gave me the other bed every night and slept in couch and the other bed in turns.

At first it was all really weird. First night I was scared the whole time (I was sure they would snap again and decide I was demon after all. They also made me cut my finger to see I was bleeding red and therefore not leviathan), therefore I didn't sleep at all. The next day I sat nodding at the backseat of the Impala. Then I decided that they could snap at the day time as well, so there was no point in not sleeping at night. Then we arrived at my campus. Now I stand in front of the main building and wonder why it is so quiet in here. Sam and Dean stand beside me.

"So," Dean clears his throat, "where's your room?"

I turn on my heels to face them. "Follow me," I command and begin to lead them towards my dorm. Shit. This isn't going well at all. I was counting on it that the campus would be packed out with people and I could escape from the nutcases, find telephone and call the police. Now there was no chance to do that and I know I couldn't outrun them, not with their physical condition compared to mine. Therefore I have no other choice than to take them to my room.

Technically the building where my room is not a part of the campus, but it is situated really near. I climb the stairs up and lead them to the door of my room at the end of the hall. I stop at the door. "Crap," I say as I realize, again, that I don't have my purse with me, "I don't have the keys. We have to go and find the janitor..."

"That's not a problem," Dean announces and gently pushes me away from the door as Sam steps forward and reaches a lock pick out of his pocket.

Seriously? Does Jared Padalecki REALLY know how to pick a door open? I just hope he will not ruin the lock, since I really don't have the money to have it fixed or changed. I couldn't be more surprised when after just few minutes the door opens nice and easy. As Sam puts the pick back to its place I approach the door. But Dean grabs my hand. "Woah woah woah, not so fast, sunshine, there could be something nasty still inside." Before I have time to answer him he steps past me and goes inside into MY apartment with gun in his hand. And Sam follows him. Finally I'm alone, I suddenly realize, now is my chance to escape. Before I can execute my plan Sam comes back to the hall. Damn my tiny apartment. "It's okay for you to come inside now," he says and gestures me to step in.

As soon as I step over the threshold I know there is something wrong. I stop at the doormat so suddenly that Sam bumps into me. "Sorry," he says lowering his head and gives me the puppy eyes again. I quickly smile at him and let my eyes then run over the apartment. It is my apartment, yet it isn't. "Something is not right," I whisper and wrap my hands around me. For some reason I'm afraid to touch anything.

"Huh?" Dean raises his head from a little machine – EMF, I guess? – he was examining. "Whatcha mean?"

I shrug. "Dunno," I say, "I'm not sure, it is like I don't know this place, even though it LOOKS like my place."

Dean frowns as he tries to understand me. He is about to say something but Sam pats his shoulder interrupting him. "Dean, look at this." He raises his hand in front of Dean's face. It takes less than a second for him to recognize the substance in Sam's hand.

"Sulfur."

"Let me see that," I demand and grip his hand. Crap. It really is sulfur. They have been really thorough with this.

"We need to get out of here to figure out what's going on in here. grab your things," Dean commands and stares at me intensely. It takes me few seconds to realize he meant me. I go to my closet and pick up a bag and then start throwing clothes into it. Soon I notice that some of my things are missing. Clothes, toothbrush, make-ups. Like I already had packed my things. I drop the bag from my hands and rush to my table. My wallet. Gone. IPod. Gone. Fuck. "I think I've already left," I mutter.

I glance at the brothers who look really confused. I'm going to explain my thoughts to them but then someone knocks my door. Dean hastens to the door before I have even moved and Sam steps in front of me – protectively? – and draws his gun. Dean, too, pulls out his gun and presses it against the door in exactly the same way I have seen him doing in Supernatural many times and then opens the door.

"Yes?"

Sam's back is blocking my view so I can't see who it is.

"Umm, hi?" a confused female voice starts, "I thought I saw my class mate coming in… wait, who are YOU?"

That is definitely Anna's voice. "Let me through," I announce and push Sam out of my way, "that's my friend!"

"Wait, she might not be…" Sam starts but I don't really listen to him. I sneak under Dean's arm to face her. "Hi!" I say to Anna, already expecting some screams of 'are you ok?' and 'where have you been?', but instead of that she just hugs me. No tears, no screaming, nothing. I feel bit offended. I've been missing FOR DAYS, and she hasn't actually been worried about me?

"What are you doing here? Didn't you already leave to your parents?" she asks as she lets me go. "Like, a day ago?"

I'm speechless. What is this nonsense? I've been missing for days! Apparently my astonishment shines bright on my face, since Dean answers her before I start screaming 'what's wrong with you?'.

"Yeah, she did, actually, but we came back to get few things she forgot," he says holding up the bag I had dropped earlier and cracks an adorable smile. Even though I'm still in a bit of a shock, the fangirl inside me is screaming.

Anna looks at him – and obviously checks him out, I know her well enough – and asks: "Who were you, again?"

"We…" he starts stretching the word, obviously thinking for a good reason.

"We are her cousins." Sam has come by the door without me noticing. Well, maybe I was too busy being angry at her to notice ANYTHING. "So, cousin," Dean says looking at me, head slightly tilted, "you've got everything you need?"

I close my mouth, which I didn't even realize I had opened. "No, I still need to grab few things." I feel my cheeks are burning red as I walk past the three of them. Anna follows me inside as the brothers remain in the hall. "Isn't that a rather long way to come back just for few things? It's not like you're going to be away for weeks, it's just few more days," she rambles as she usually does. I don't know what to say. I'm confused. Am I loosing it, too? Did I ran away by myself, and then just imagined I'd been kidnapped? But that makes no sense! If I left only a day ago, at least according to Anna, there is no way I could have been gone for days. But I've been travelling with "the Winchesters" for three days. Or am I just nuts? I sit on my chair and press my fingers against my forehead.

"Are you okay?" She really sounds worried.

I nod. No, I'm not okay, but there is no way I'd be telling her a bizarre story I've been through. "I probably should get my things, so we could hit the road. It is a long way back." I stand up. I've really no idea what I should take with me. I already packed enough clothes for a week or so, and since my purse is gone there really isn't much I could probably need. Except… My laptop still lies on the table. THAT I'd really want to have with me.

Few minutes later I walk out of the door, not sure when I could come back. At least now I have something with me, and I'm really looking forward changing clean clothes. I've tried to wash my underwear in the motels, but with bad results since I didn't have any other detergent than those awful soaps they have in motels. And now I even have some money of my own. I needed to empty my savings, but it feels nice to have some cash in my pocket. Not much, though, but still.

"You ready?" Sam asks and looks at me curiously. I wonder what they are thinking about me. About all of this.

"Yeah," I answer him shortly and close the door. "Well, bye again, I guess," I say to Anna.

"Yeah, bye!" See hugs me again. "See you after Easter!"

EASTER? I blink and mumble an affirmative answer. It is not Easter yet, is it? Dean grasps my arm and leads me out. I'm thankful since I'm not sure whether my own legs would have worked flawlessly. Sam is carrying my bags. We reach the Impala and Dean opens the door for me. I sit in emotionlessly. I hear the trunk opening and a thud as Sam lays my stuff in there.

This all messed up. All insane.

"That was seriously weird," Dean says tilting his head slightly, "you couldn't've left a day ago, right? Since you have been travelling with us for three days…"

Sam snorts. "Are you really that simple, Dean?"

Dean frowns and shakes his head. "What makes you think so?"

"If she is from alternative universe, she must've an equivalent here, too, right?" He smiles slightly as he looks at Dean.

Wrinkle between Dean's eyebrows deepens. "I knew that."

"No you didn't."

"Bitch."

"Jerk." This would be really funny if I still wasn't so confused to notice their quarrel.

Dean starts the engine ignoring Sam. "So, what do we do next?"

Sam shrugs. "We try to find her. So where do your parents life?" He turns to face me. "What's wrong?" he asks as he notices the blank expression on my face.

"What's wrong?" I'd like to scream back to his face, yet my voice remains calm. "I seriously have no idea what the fuck is happening here, this is not right. I wasn't SUPPOSED to be here a day ago, you know? I was with you, trying to get home. It makes no sense, why would Anna lie to me?"

Dean interrupts me. "No, you're the one who's not making any sense. What you mean, you were not supposed to be here?"

I'm in so deep panic that I don't care anymore what I say. So I decide to speak up my mind. "Listen, you two are not really hunters, you're just actors. Gone crazy, for some reason. I have no idea what you want from me, but why did Anna lie to me? Is she in this with you? This is all insane," I realize I'm not making any sense to them, since they really believe they are "the Winchester brothers".

Dean taps the wheel impatiently with his both hands. "Are you nuts? Seriously, I'm sick of all this bullshit," he speaks up.

"Dean…" Sam tries to calm him down.

"No, Sam, she's is right, this is insane," Dean says angrily, "I'm done with this, she's crazy."

"You're the crazy ones!" I finally manage to scream bit louder.

Sam looks like he doesn't know whether he should be calming me or Dean. "Guys. We need to talk about this, screaming and arguing won't do any good."

Dean is about to say something more, but I see he's biting his lower lip. "Okay," he finally sighs, "let's find a motel or something."

I don't know what to say. So I remain silent. This is not going well. Not at all.

xoxoxox

About an hour or so later we sit in a shabby motel room – which actually looks really much like all the previous ones too, I guess all the motel rooms look alike – around a small table. I'm back at staring my hands because I feel uneasy to look at either of them.

"Okay, now we are in "an adult situation" for a conversation," Dean starts and leers at Sam, "you happy now?"

Sam glimpses at him but decides to ignore his words. "So", he starts slowly, "what did you mean by that what you said in the car?"

I'm scared again, maybe more than I've been during these three days. Now that the shock has worn off, I know I'm screwed. I shouldn't have talked out of turn in the car. Now I think I have no other choice than tell the truth. The REAL truth.

"Guys," I start and feel the tears burning my eyes, "I'm sorry, but the truth is there are no demons. Or ghosts or anything like that. It is all fiction. You are just actors, and Supernatural is really just a TV-show. And you are just nuts."

They stare at me. "What?" Dean asks, starting to lose his temper again.

"Dean, shut up, you're scaring her," Sam utters and stares at me with curiosity. "I understand that you must be really confused," he says with calm voice, "but we are real. That's a fact."

I shake my head. "No, you just think so. Really, this is crazy! Don't you have people who miss you? Like, you are both married, for crying out loud!"

Now they both look really shocked. "You must admit it, Sam, she IS nuts." Dean leans backwards in his chair.

Sam shakes his head. "I know you are puzzled by all this parallel universe stuff, but you can't mix our reality with yours."

"Don't you get it?" I shout, "There is no other reality! Only this one! Sam and Dean Winchester are fictional characters in a fictional show!" Then I figure something. "You are fictional," I say, "and I can prove it."

Dean squints. "Then do so."

I push my hands against the smooth surface of the table and lean against it. "I will. I just need a computer."

Dean gets up so quickly that he actually knocks his chair over. I can tell by just looking at him that he is irritated. A moment later he places a laptop in front of me. "Do your magic," he says spitefully, "and convince me I'm fictional."

It takes few moments for the computer to connect. Then I finally have a browser open in front of my eyes I type in "supernatural". That should find enough prove for me.

But the search engine doesn't provide me with links to IMDb and Wikipedia sites about the TV-show as I expected. "What the…?" I mumble as I scroll down. All I get is a great deal of page hits about supernatural creatures, such as ghosts and deities. And then, a publisher's web site about _Supernatural _–book series. BOOK SERIES? Why haven't I heard about such a thing before… no wait. I HAVE heard of them. IN the TV-show.

"Fuck." That is all I manage to say as I stare at the computer's screen. There is no way they could have manipulated Google, therefore only explanation I can come up with is that I truly am INSIDE Supernatural. "This can't be real," I whisper. Black dots appear at the edges of my sight. I have time to realize I'm about to faint before I do so.

xoxoxox


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry about all those xoxoxo's in the text, for some reason the site doesn't allow me to add some ***'s for marking the paragraphs... But here's the second chapter of the story, please enjoy! :)**

* * *

**Chapter 2: When Winchester brothers show up, do as they tell you**

Sam realized she was fainting as she started falling from her chair. Luckily he was quick enough to catch the girl before she hit her head on the floor.

"Apparently she did not find the proof she was expecting," Dean chuckled.

"That's not funny. You don't have to be mean, man," Sam said, still holding her up. He carried the unconscious girl to the bed and carefully laid her in it. "She's confused. In the reality she knows none of this is real. Remember that time Balthazar sent us in a different reality? You were pretty confused yourself."

"IF she is from other reality," Dean argued, "as far as we know she could be just crazy, you know."

Sam shook his head. Sometime his brother was just way too stubborn. "She did get our names right, though. Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, remember?"

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." Dean pressed his hands against his temples. "At times like this I hope Bobby was still around."

"We could always call Garth."

Dean sneered. "Yeah, right, like you really meant that." He looked at the girl, lying at the bed. "Hell with this, I need I drink." He stood up and walked to the door. "You need anything? I saw a liquor store down the street."

"No, I'm good. You could bring some chocolate, though."

"What? Chocolate, you're having a sweet tooth ache or something?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "No, it's for her; when she wakes up, some chocolate will help her get to back to her feet."

"No one ever gave ME chocolate when I lost consciousness…" Dean mumbled as he walked out of the door, closing it with a loud bang.

xoxoxox

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, thinking about how ugly it really is, for whole two minutes without realizing where I am. I don't figure that out until someone's face appears to my sight. I blink and it takes me few moments to recognize whose the brown, longhaired head is.

"How're you feeling?" Sam asks with a worried voice.

I sit up. I'm in the motel room bed. "I dunno," I answer to him. "What happened?"

Sam sits beside me. "You kinda fainted," he says and offers me a bar of chocolate. "It makes you feel better," he explains.

I take the chocolate he is offering to me and bite it ravenously. As it melts in my mouth I feel already better, even though I know the sugar cannot kick in that fast. Maybe it is just a psychological thing. Before I take a second bite I ask: "How long was I out?"

Sam sits next to me and purses his lips as he stops to think for a while. "Half an hour, tops," he answers me.

I only nod for an answer because I have my mouth full of chocolate. And it is delicious. I swallow. "It's all really real?" I ask him. I sound really sad, even to my own ears. "I wonder whether demons really exist in my reality, too."

I'd want him to deny it, deny it all, and probably tell me I'm in the candid camera or something. But I know he won't. It is all too real for that.

"It is possible," he says, "since you are here."

For the first time I also realize that angels are real, too. At least in this reality. "Fuck. I never considered myself as a religious person, I didn't even believe in God," I confess to him. "And now I'm supposed to live in a world in which I know God exists."

"He's just not very interested in the happenings of this world," Sam smiles faintly.

"That must be hard for Castiel," I wonder, "since he's father is absent."

Sam chuckles. "It just feels weird that you seem to know us pretty well but we don't know anything about you. But you're right, Cas takes it rather heavily, I guess."

"Could you already cut the crap and drag your asses in here?" I haven't even noticed Dean was present before he talked. "I believe we had some work to do." He looks really annoyed again, and I can't get rid of the feeling that is because of me. He lounges on a chair and holds a glass of amber colored liquid in his hand. His eyebrows are deeply frowned as he takes a zip from his glass. I see a bottle of whiskey, already one third of it empty, in front of him on the table.

We rise up simultaneously with Sam. "Oh my god, you're so tall!" I exclaim. I haven't really noticed that before. Sam looks a bit embarrassed as we go to the table.

I stuff the last bit of the chocolate into my mouth as I sit down and try to dodge looking at Dean. Sam stands next to table since there are only two chairs. "Don't be a jerk, Dean, it's not her fault," he says to him, and I have no idea what's he talking about. Neither does Dean. Or at least he pretends not to and he does not answer to him. But Sam does not give up. "So, did you have an idea about how should we proceed from here on?"

"It might actually amaze you," Dean replies, "but actually I have. The library of Men of Letters. There might be some information about a bizarre situation like this."

Of course, since I have watched all possible episodes, I know what he is talking about, yet I don't understand what he means. "Weren't we going to my parents' house?" "So did I think," Sam blinks and stares at his brother. For few seconds Dean ignores us both and takes his time to have few more sips of his whiskey. As he refills his glass he finally answers: "Of course we'll swing by. But wouldn't it be just awfully awkward if you dashed in as you are already there, sitting on your pretty ass and drinking tea?" Dean kicks his feet up onto the table and takes another gulp from his glass. "I dunno about you, but I think that would be rather hard to explain."

I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks coloring them up, partly because Dean really have a good point which I haven't even thought about, but mostly because he had just called my ass pretty. Maybe he does not hate me as much as I thought.

Sam chuckles. "Wasn't that kinda obvious? We should proceed as we agreed earlier. We go to her parents' place and we do what we usually do, right?"

I feel like Sam isn't really asking for a permission for his plan, but I nod anyways, and suddenly I remember the survivor's guide I saw the other day. The rule number four: "When Winchester brothers show up, do as they tell you." I utter laughter. I have no intention to disobey them now.

"Bitch, stealing my moment of shine," Dean mutters as he probably thinks I was laughing at him. Dean stands up, and it amazes me how he stands really firmly, even though he must have a great deal of alcohol running in his veins. Maybe he already is so used to being drunk that a small amount won't make any difference to him anymore, I ponder to myself and click my tongue at him.

Dean does not notice or care since he does not even twitch as he walks to the door. "I'm hungry, pizza, anyone?" Without waiting for an answer he walks away. A moment later I hear the cough of the Impala as  
Dean starts the engine and drives away. I hope no police car pulls him over, I don't take he's in a condition they'd approve.

"I guess it is really eating him," I say and feel sorry for Dean for the first time in three days I have spent with the brothers. Really, Dean really isn't the type you feel sorry for. He mostly makes you feel irritated or annoyed. Or both. But now that I know who they truly ARE real, I guess I feel sorry for both of them.

"Huh?"

I also realize that Sam does not have a slightest clue what I am talking about. I curse them both for being completely idiots. Would it really be that hard to just talk about THINGS? I sigh. "I mean Cas."

Sam blinks and tilts his head a bit.

"Castiel. An angel. Dark hair, blue eyes, wears a trench coat, remember?"

He frowns. "What does Cas have to do all of this? He might know something about you, though, but we can't contact him at the moment." Sam sits down on the chair Dean left unoccupied.

I push my palms against my forehead. Is he completely stupid? "Exactly. And that is eating Dean," I try to hold all my fangirl stuff out of my head, so that I would not speak out of my turn – even though I'm still sure Dean has a thing for Cas, but I also feel I'm not the one who should talk about it to Sam. "The fact that you have not heard of him in a long time must be at least one reason Dean is so cranky. He is not used to having Cas not answering him."

"I thought he hated having a hot line to him."

I sigh. How could I explain it to him right? It was completely different to analyze their behavior with my sister and fellow Supernatural fans than it is to explain Dean's problems to his brother – without being rude or tactless. "Umm," I hesitate a while, "I think he was so used to it that now when it's gone he feels like a part of him is missing."

Sam bites his lip as he tries to understand what I'm saying.

"I guess it is a bit like your soul," I try to explain, already knowing this is a bad analogy, but I can't come up with a better one.

"Huh?"

I twist my arms and struggle with words. "Like the time you were missing it. You knew you had no soul, right? But it did not bother you until you had it back. It wasn't until then that you realized what you  
had lacked. It is just a kind of a reverse situation with Dean."

Sam looks pensive and rather shocked, and I wonder what is going on in his head. After a good while he finally speaks up again. "Is there really anything you don't know about us?"

I give him a faint smile. "I'm sure there is a lot I don't know, but I've got a really good peek into your lives for few years," I tell him.

He raises his eyebrows in curiosity. "You know about the bad stuff, too?"

"Define bad stuff."

Sam leans his hands against his knees and buries his face into his palms. "Geez, this is so weird," I hear him sigh, "you must really think we are pathetic."

I want to go to him and give him a hug – but not in fangirlish way, really, I just want to comfort him and make him feel better – but all I do is sit silent and grip the table. "No, I don't think so, not at all," I tell him with a soothing voice, "well, I sometimes think you're total airheads..." He chuckles. "... but I think you're trying to do the best you can."

Sam raises his head and smiles at me. I could swear he had tears in his eyes, but the moment passes so quickly that I'm not sure. Sam runs his fingers though his hair and leans against the back of his chair again. For a moment we sit in silence and I'm under impression that he still wants to ask me something more, therefore I remain silent and give him the chance. But that moment passes, too. "So..." Sam starts slowly, "what do you study?"

I'm rather surprised by the question. This is actually the first personal question – a personal question which had nothing to do with anything supernatural at least – either of them has asked me.

"Architecture," I answer him.

Sam nods. "That's nice." He does not ask of further questions and neither do I tell him more, I'm too deep in my thoughts. We sit in silence until Dean barges in carrying three pizza boxes. "Pizza, anyone?" he asks as he slams the boxes on the table. He opens the topmost box and grabs a slice of something that looks like a cheese and salami pizza to me. A strand of melted cheese clings on to his chin as he takes an enormous bite and I feel an urgent need to wipe it off. Before I do so he wipes it away himself with the back of his hand.

"C'mon now, eat," Dean demands mouth full of pizza.

The pizza does smell good and I realize that I'm really hungry. I try to recall when was last time I ate anything – except for the chocolate, of course – so I quickly take a slice before he decides I'm not allowed to have any. The warm food literally melts in my mouth as I chew and swallow it. When I'm finished with my slice I open my eyes, without knowing at which point I had closed them, only to notice that the first pizza is gone. I blink in confusion.

"You eat too slow," Dean says and smiles at me genuinely for the first time and the fangirl in me squeals even though I manage to stay silent. "Yeah, I guess so," I answer him and wonder how an earth two of them were able to eat an almost entire pizza so fast. In reality at least Dean apparently eats as much as it seems also in the show. As Sam opens the second box Dean grabs a plastic bag he had with him and lines up a variety of different beverages on the table. "I didn't know what you liked," he says to me, "so I brought you choices." It also seems that he is sweet, too, despite my doubts.

I take a can of Pepsi and it opens with a whiz. The first sip of the bubbly liquid feels refreshing in my mouth. Two other pizzas – blue cheese & ham and chili & shrimp – last about as long as the first one did, only this time I eat bit quicker and manage to get enough to fill my stomach. After the pizzas are devoured to the last piece I lean backward with a new can of soda in my hand. Dean and Sam do the same, except that they are holding beers, and Dean burps silently. "Man, that was delicious," he says and glimpses then quickly the soda in my hand. "What, you don't drink?"

I know what he means but I feel chatty. "I'm drinking right now," I tell him as I take a long gulp of my soda.

Sam laughs.

"That's not what I meant," Dean says not being able to hold off his smile and then playfully takes a sip of his bottle of beer.

"I know, I know," I lean forward and take a beer in my hand and weigh it in my hand as I try to pick good words. "It's just that beer is not for me." Seriously, is that the best answer I can come up with? I put the beer back on the table.

"Yeah, so normally you'd want have a teenybopper candy cider?" Dean asks me his eyes twinkling so that I know he is joking. I try to look offended. "No, those are gross. I only drink good ciders." I pause for more dramatic effect. "And liquors."

He squints and Sam looks surprised. Dean leans forward and looking me in the eyes and whispers: "Prove it." He reaches his pocket and even before he pulls out his silver flask I knew what he was up to. Slowly he unscrews the cap and places the flask on the table in front of me. "Have a drink."

I don't normally accept strange drinks from strange people, but in this case I believe I can make an exception; if they wanted to poison or harm me in any way, they would have done so already. Besides, I don't see them as strangers anymore, I feel like I got acquainted with them a long time ago. Therefore I grasp the flask into my hand and take a long sip. I identify the liquid to be cheap whiskey as it burns my throat on its way down. I repress the urgent need to cough – I would not give them the satisfaction of accusing me to be girly. I wipe the corner of mouth with the back of my hand as I hand the flask over to Dean. "You happy now?"

Dean smiles – probably one of the most perfect smiles I've ever seen. "You bet, honey."

He seems happier to me than he was earlier this day. I wonder whether that is only because of all the alcohol he has consumed. As to prove my doubts Dean takes a big gulp out of his flask before putting it back to his pocket.

Sam yawns. "We should probably get some shut-eye," he says and glimpses the old and crappy digital watch on the bedside table. "What time will your parents be home tomorrow?" he asks me.

I shrug. "I dunno, I don't really keep track on their comings and goings as I'm not living home anymore. But since it is a holiday they're probably home all day, or so."

Both of them nod simultaneously. "That's good enough," Sam admits, "That way we'll have time to visit the police department. They might have some info about you." Without further discussion I go to toilet to pee and brush my teeth with a brand new toothbrush I got from the convenience store earlier this day. I try to be quick since there is only one bathroom for the three of us to use. I quickly braid my hair and wash my face with cold water. It feels good against my cheeks. I stare myself from the mirror as water runs down on my face. "This is all so weird," I say to my reflection. She does not provide me with any kind of an answer, only keeps staring at me. "Yeah, thanks a lot," I tell her as I open the door and let Sam in. I chuckle as I remember the few first days we travelled together; apparently they were not used to locking the bathroom door while travelling by themselves. That had lead into few really confusing and embarrassing moments. Even now they do not always close the door for such minor actions as brushing teeth or washing up. Well, it is not that they'd have anything to be ashamed of when topless, and I really don't mind. I strip from my pants and long-sleeved shirt; I sleep in a mere t-shirt. I leave the socks on my feet, since my toes get cold sometimes. Then I crawl under the duvet. The rough sheets scratch my skin and I try to ignore that. At least that means the bed is clean. I fall asleep as soon as I close my eyes.

Next morning I wake up alone. I stand up and stretch my arms. I have slept pretty late, the digital numbers tell me it is 11 a.m. I'm not worried about Sam and Dean – really, they can take pretty good care of themselves – but still I feel bit uneasy. Maybe I don't want to be alone, not in this situation I know nothing about. I find a note from the table – probably from Sam, I don't take Dean is the note-writing-type.

_Gone to the station, will be back around 1 p.m. _

_DON'T LEAVE THE ROOM, there is a gun under the pillow, just in case._

I crumple the piece of paper in my fist. Do they think I'm stupid, or what? Like I was gonna go out alone, I'd be as good as dead if any nasty things, such as demons, showed up. I shiver. Though they could show up in here too. I rush to the bed and search under pillows. The gun is not hard to find, my fingers graze the cold, smooth surface quickly. I tighten my fingers around the handle and pull it in front of my eyes. I know how to use it – my dad has made sure of it – though I'm not sure whether can ever make myself to pull the trigger when pointing a person. I check the magazine, which turns out to be fully loaded. "Great," I mumble to myself and place the gun besides me on the table. Now I'll have few hours to wait.

xoxoxox

Dean pulled the Impala to front of the local police station. Even though they had been doing this for a rather long time he still felt ridiculous in his cheap suit. He tightened his tie and the turned to face his brother. "Ready to roll, Sammy?"

Sam did not answer to him, only alighted himself from the car and slammed the door closed.

"So did I think," Dean mumbled to himself and followed his brother's lead. He locked the doors and dropped the key into his pocket. "We'll be back soon, baby," he whispered and gently patted the roof of the car and followed Sam inside the station.

At the front desk they did the normal show, I'm special agent this and that and this is my partner blah blah, and we are here to ask you some questions concerning yadda yadda. A plump middle-aged officer with dense moustache looked at them rather suspiciously at first. "FBI, eh?" he muttered. "Well, I'll see what I can do for you. Follow me."

He took them into small room in the back. "Here we can speak, so how can I help you, agents?"

Sam coughed. "We're here to investigate the disappearance of a female student. Have you found out anything… out of normal, lately?" He looked down on the officer, who was at least 20 inches shorter than he was.

"Funny that you came here today," the officer said and Dean noticed how his moustache fibrillated as he spoke. He coughed to cover laughter. "Funny, how exactly?" he asked before he'd laugh again.

The officer took a serious face. "We wound a body of unidentified female, in her early twenties, last night." Sam and Dean glanced briefly each others. "Could we… see the body?"

"Of course."

The morgue of the town was small and stuffy. They were received by a white coated man who introduced himself as Doctor Jackson. After brief explanations (special agent this and that and this is my partner blah blah, etc) he took the brothers to the room where one wall was covered by small, metallic doors. "Don't you think we visit these places way too often?" Dean asked Sam as Doctor Jackson picked a door and opened it. "Well, it is not like we could avoid it," Sam replied him, "Wouldn't it be nice to prevent these things before someone actually died?" Dean nodded. "That would be just awesome."

"Gentlemen," Doctor called them forward. On a platform lied a body, covered with a white sheet. "A white female, early twenties, cause of death unknown, unidentified" the doctor read from his papers, "though there seems to be few reported missing person. An autopsy is scheduled for today." And then he pulled the sheet away from the face.

"Holy shit," Dean uttered. Sam took a deep breath."Officer," he said to the plump police that had come with them, "it is very important that you keep her death from the possible relatives and the press, is that possible?"

He nodded. "I guess if that is important."

"Well, it is," Dean said. "Let's go, Sam."

xoxoxox

I grab the gun in my hand as soon as I hear noises from the door. Luckily the one who opens the door is Dean and he is followed by Sam. "Woah, easy with the gun, cowgirl!" he calls out as he notices the gun in my hand. I lay it back to the table. They have a bag of groceries with them – good, since I'm hungry – and Sam places it on the table. "Sandwich?" he asks and pushes the bag towards me.

"With pleasure!" I answer him eagerly and pick a sandwich filled with chicken and avocado. I rip the package open and sink my teeth in the sandwich. "So, did you find out anything?" I ask after I have swallowed the first bite. Sam and Dean look at each other's – they seem to do that a lot – and Dean bites his lower lip. "You tell her," he demands then, "you're better with this kinda stuff than me."

That sounds really, really bad. "What is going on?" I don't like the tremble in my voice, but I guess it can't be helped now. I really need to know what is going on. Sam sits on the opposite side of the table from me. "Look," he starts, "there really is not an easy way to tell this, so I'm just gonna say it, but don't overreact or anything, okay?"

"Just cough it up," I tell him, "I already have a really bad feeling about this."

Sam bites his lips and looks serious for a while. I can see he is trying to find right words. "Seems like…" he struggles a bit with his words, "… seems like the you in this reality is… dead."

I must've heard him wrong. "Excuse me?" I can't believe my ears." Dead? But how? And why?" The sandwich I was holding drops from my hands, but I don't really notice that. My fingers feel numb.

Sam reaches out and takes my hand in his. His palm is so much bigger than mine. I notice such irrelevant details as my brains tries to deny the truth they brought to me. Yes, that must be the truth; part of me knows it is. Sam and Dean have no motive to lie to me about that. Yet part of me wants to deny it all.

"We don't know how or why," Dean interrupts, "but damn right we're gonna find out!"

I blink. "But why I'm here if I'm dead?" I want to giggle. That sounds so bizarre, and I realize that being alive after death is really something that happens in Supernatural. A lot. Just look at the brothers; they have died a couple dozens of times and are yet alive.

I hear silent swish from behind me and suddenly the both men stare over my shoulder. I notice Dean's face pales.

"She's a future prophet of the Lord," husky voice states from behind me. I turn quickly around in my chair, letting go of Sam's hand. "Oh my god," I manage to whisper and I feel like fainting again as I stare an angular face, dark hair and stubble. Trench coat hangs carelessly open, blue tie lies loosely on the white shirt.

"Not quite," Dean grits, "only his handyman."

"Hello Dean," Castiel says to Dean and nods towards Sam. "Sam." Then he turns his dark blue eyes to mine. "Iria, nice to meet you finally."

xoxoxox

Once again I sit in the backseat of the Impala, only this time I'm accompanied with a reticent angel in a trench coat. Every once in a while I take a quick peek at his face, but he sits still, and I mean STILL. He hasn't moved an inch since he took seat. He just sits and stares something in front him, though I'm not sure what might be that captivating – if not Dean's neck in front of him. I giggle internally, since as Destiel fan I'm sure that is captivating enough to him.

The Impala moves smoothly across familiar neighborhood – we are near my parents' house, I've been living around here all my life. In few minutes Dean makes a turn to the right street and pulls over in front of my home. The house looks quiet but both of my parents' cars are on the driveway so I know they are home. I even see my sister's car parked down the road. So she is home, too. I'd want to get up immediately and run inside; I haven't seen her in a long while. But I remain in the car, as was planned.

"So," Sam starts, "here we are." He turns on his seat to face me. "Remember to stay put, no matter what?"

I nod. I have no intention in disobeying them.

Without further discussion the brothers get up from the car. I see Dean straightening his suit before he follows Sam to the front door. I take another glance into Castiel's direction. He still sits still, but this time he is staring at ME. I feel immediately uneasy and I want to squirm. "What?" I snap at him.

He looks confused; maybe he doesn't understand my tone? "I'm sorry," he apologies swiftly and then turns his head to stare straight again.

I lounge deeper to the seat and sink into my thoughts. It could take a while for Sam and Dean to come back. I feel like I could slumber any time, even though I slept well last night. But maybe the knowledge of your own death would make anyone groggy. Now I finally have time to ponder all the things Cas told us after his arrive. As we deduced, I'm from different reality. Apparently demons are hunting down the future prophets in Supernatural reality (wasn't there an episode of Crowley killing some prophets?) and apparently they got to me before angels did. That's why my dead body lies in the morgue. Castiel told us that the number of future prophets is decreasing in this reality; therefore angels pulled me here. Isn't it just lovely to be an angel toy they can throw through boundaries of realities?

I'm deep in my thoughts as suddenly Cas' head snaps up. He only states: "I must go now." And in a silent swish of his wings he is gone. I blink few times before I realize what happened. Crap, this would be a lot of fun to explain to the Winchesters; while they were out solving a mystery, I lost an angel. I sigh and slump down to lay on the backseat. I fall asleep after few minutes.

xoxoxox

"Mrs. Polley?" Dean suggested as an amiable looking lady opened the door for them. She looked rather worried as she scanned the two men standing on her porch. "Yes. How can I help you?" she finally asked.

Sam and Dean reached their pockets to show her the FBI badges. "Special agents Anderson and this is my partner special agent Bourne. Mind if we… asked few questions?"

"No, not at all," Mrs. Polley hesitated only a bit, "Please, come in."

As she opened the door to let the 'special agents' in a middle-aged man walked to the hall. "What is it?" he asked and eyed brothers cautiously.

"Carl, these are special agents…" She looked at Sam and Dean, obviously trying to remember their names.

"Anderson," Dean helped him and stretched out his hand to shake it with Carl's. Then he gestured towards Sam. "And this is my partner special agent Bourne." Sam shook hands with him too. "We're here to ask few questions, if that is alright by you."

"Sure," he answered, "it's not like we have anything to hide."

Before they knew it Sam and Dean were sitting on a couch in a cozy living room. The Polleys sat on the opposite couch, waiting for them to speak.

"Well, we have few questions concerning your daughter, Iria," Sam started and before he could continue Mrs. Polley had leaned forward. "She's not in trouble, is she?" she demanded.

"No, she's actually..."

"She was supposed to come home over a day ago, but she still hasn't. And she's not answering her phone, either. Do you know anything about her? I'm getting really worried," she continued without giving Sam or Dean a proper change to answer.

Dean glanced at Sam quickly and he was shaking his head slightly. "Well, we don't know anything for sure," Dean answered slowly, "And we are trying to figure out her whereabouts."

Both of her parents looked shocked. "Oh no, please, Mr. and Mrs. Polley, don't get us wrong, she's not in trouble. We are just investigating… a case… in which she might be a witness," Sam rushed to explain. It was always hard to come up with decent excuses, Sam thought, but this one seemed to satisfy Iria's parents. "If you find out anything about her, would you please give us a call in this number?" Sam handed over a business card to Carl Polley. Well, technically Sam and Dean knew more about her situation than her parents' could possibly know at the moment, but they would start wondering whether 'the special agents' didn't give them any way to contact them.

Few minutes later Sam and Dean stood by the Impala, staring at the empty backseat.

"Isn't this where we left them?" Dean asked his brother, "And told her not to go anywhere?"

xoxoxox


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi everyone, and here's the next chapter! I don't think I ever mentioned, but the story takes place somewhere in mid 8th season, probably right after the first trial (hellhounds) episode, so if you're not that far in the series, my story might spoil you a bit. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Find salt. More the better.**

I wake up in a flinch. I blink. I stare at the roof above me. My roof. In MY apartment. What the hell..? I stand up and find out I'm in my pajamas. Holy shit. I quickly rush to my table, grab my cell phone from its usual place and check the date.

"No, no, no," I mutter, "this isn't possible." It is still weeks to Easter. And it seems I'm back in my own reality. "No, this can't be," I say out loud, and I know I have to get back. But how?

Then a voice whispering in my head tells me, I've probably been dreaming. This whole time. All about Sam and Dean Winchester, parallel universes, angels and demons. That must be it.

But it all seemed so real, almost too real, another voice argues in my head. I push my hands against my head. What is going on?

And that is when I smell bad eggs. Sulfur.

"'Ello, Iria," a soft voice with a strong Scottish accent speaks behind me. I turn around on my heels and realize I still must be dreaming or I'm in deeper trouble than I have ever been.

I stare at Crowley's face. "What are you doing here?" I manage to ask him as I back off as far as possible from him. Like that could do any difference against him.

"So you know me?" Crowley looks genuinely surprised.

"You're Crowley," I answer him.

He nods and looks rather satisfied. "I'm flattered that you recognize me, seems that people in this reality are much better informed than people in mine. That's nice." He tilts his head as he looks at me with curiosity. "I think I like you," he then tells me, "and it almost saddens me that I have to kill you."

My heart skips few beats. "You don't have to kill me," my voice shivers as I speak, "I won't do you any harm in here."

"No, you won't. But my feathery friends could pull you back somewhere else you could. And I would despise that." Crowley scratches his bristle. "No, I think you're better off dead."

Once again I curse my tiny apartment; I really don't have anywhere to run. My eyes circle around the apartment to find anything that could be used as a weapon, and suddenly I miss the gun Sam had left me in the motel room. It's not that it would do any good against demon, though, but it would make me feel better to shoot couple of extra holes in that damn sexy torso of his before he kills me. But then I see it. A salt shaker on my table and I remember one of the survivor's rules: "Find salt." And I know I have even more salt on my closet. I grab the salt cellar in my hand, unscrew the cap and throw it towards the demon. It doesn't do much damage to him, though, but it gives me enough time to get a salt box from the cupboard and make a circle of salt. I hear Crowley cry something about me being a slutty bitch as I step in the circle. I also know that my circle won't hold him away long. At least I'll live few minutes longer. I stare at Crowley's angry face and hope I'd have holy water forthcoming; I'd die fighting. Now all I can do is toss some more salt on him and hope for a quick death.

I hear him before I can see him. A silent flap echoes through my apartment. "Leave her be," Castiel says to Crowley before the demon have even time to realize he is standing right behind him. Crowley leaps as far as possible from the angel and smiles sweetly. "But 'ello Castiel, crashing another party, eh?" He tries to cover it, but somehow I get the feeling he is surprised to see Castiel. "You should stop poking other people's business, that's not polite."

Before Castiel can answer him Crowley has pulled a spear – an angel killing one – out of its cache (seriously, where do these guys storage all the magical weapons they have?) and attacks. I try to scream warnings to the angel, but he already have his own weapon in his hand. They clash in the middle of my tiny apartment and I curl up to protect myself. I hear screaming, my own screaming, I realize.

Everything is over in just few seconds and a hand sets on my shoulder. I shake it away, not knowing whether it is Castiel of Crowley. "It's okay," a husky voice soothes me and I huff in relief. It seems a demon isn't going to kill me, not today at least.

"What happened?" I demand to know, "Why am I back in here?"

Castiel tilts his head. "There seems to be some… problems in the portal between the two realities," he then answers me. "Don't worry, I'll take you back." He reaches his hand and gently touches my forehead with the tip of his fingers. I close my eyes…

… and I'm back on the seat of Impala. "Jesus," I whisper astonished, "that was crazy."

Unluckily I hadn't noticed the car was moving, at least not before I hit my head on the door as the car swerves recklessly.

"Son of a bitch, could you please stop doin' that?" I hear Dean's voice as the Impala resumes to its original track. "Materializing on my car and scaring the Lord out of me?"

I get up – I woke up lying on the back seat – rubbing my head from the point I hit it. "Not my fault," I complain, "I didn't do it willingly."

"What the hell happened?" Sam sticks in, "Where did you disappear like that?"

My eyebrows wrinkle as I try to figure out what time it is. "I took a little trip back to my own place," I finally tell them, "and apparently time hasn't passed there at all, I woke up in my bed around same time I went to sleep last time I was there." I pause. "Does that sound complicated to you also, or is just me?"

Dean snorts. "Nope, not complicated at all, if you just label it as 'angel stuff'. Otherwise I didn't get a word of what you were saying."

"So, if you were back there," Sam muses, ignoring his brother, "How did you get back here?"

"Label it as 'angel stuff'," I tell them and both of them laugh shortly. "No, seriously, Cas brought me back."

I see Dean's face from the rear mirror and he looks serious, again. For a second our eyes meet. I quickly turn my gaze somewhere else as he asks: "You know where he went?"

I shake my head. "Not really," I answer him, "he just zapped me here. Though he left the car even earlier than I did. He didn't give me any reason."

"Yeah, he normally doesn't, he just puffs in and puffs out as he pleases." Dean sounds little bitter to me. I almost argue him that Castiel doesn't just puff in as he pleases; he usually comes when Dean ASKS him to come. I almost tell them about Naomi, too, but then I realize I shouldn't. Since they don't know about her, yet, and I don't think I should be messing with the natural timeline of the story. If there even is one. It also makes me wonder what happens first, the scriptwriting in my universe or the actual happenings in here. All the complex thinking makes my head hurt, and then I suddenly realize I haven't asked the most important thing yet.

"What happened with my family?" I insist to know, "Did they know anything about me?" I'm really eager to know. Actually I'd like to go to meet them myself, but that's probably not going to happen. Not as long as there is a chance my parents would get to know about my death. And it's not like I could go all 'the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated' on them.

"They don't know anything yet, and if a certain police officer keeps his promise they won't find out anytime soon either," Sam tells me.

"So they just think I'm missing?"

"Well…" Sam starts but Dean concludes on his behalf: "They might actually think you've done some crimes, but don't worry about it."

My jaw drops as I stare at them. "What EXCACTLY did you tell them?" I know I sound angry, but I really don't want to make my parents think I'm some kind of delinquent.

Sam coughs. "We told them you might be a witness for a case we are working with, but somehow they MIGHT have gotten the impression you have done something…"

Well that's great. That is all I needed know. I addition to having problems with all sorts of supernatural powers, I'm now looking forward on having problems in home, too. Yays.

xoxoxox

We're back to our motel room and I lie on bed and surf in the internet. It seems like everything is in its proper place in there (except for the lack of Supernatural fan sites and Google, the only search engine seems to be "Search the Web"). I even have the same passwords for the same forums as 'back in home'. I find that rather comforting.

Now that the brothers have visited my parents and local police station I don't really know what we're going to do next. It's not like they'd have anything to hunt in here, and I'm not sure what do they do with their free time between the hunts; the show doesn't really tell about that side. Right now Sam and Dean are sitting in the table, discussing about something, leaning so much towards each other that their heads are almost touching. That's actually rather cute. Suddenly I smirk as I realize something. There actually MUST BE some sort of Supernatural fan sites; I've been just looking under wrong addresses. I start the search engine and type in 'supernatural fanfiction', and in a moment I have list of promising titles in front of me. Most of them are listed under 'wincest', though, and reading about that stuff might be rather – I take a quick peek towards the brothers – uncomfortable right now. I click one title (with no 'wincest' tag on in) in pure experimental sense. It turns out to be a rather sweet piece of Sam and Dean hunting a nest of vampires – and having serious trust issues. I giggle.

I notice both of them have raised their gazes to look at my direction, alerted by my laughter. "What's so funny?" Dean asks as I probably look bit embarrassed. Is it wrong to read fan fiction about persons you're with? "Nothing," I answer him as I close the browser window. "So, any idea what're we gonna do next?"

Sam nods. "We were actually just discussing about that," he says and stretches his back straight and crosses his hands behind his neck. "We probably should leave for the Men of Letters bunker, since there isn't much do around here anymore. That will probably be the safest place for you now."

Of course I have told them all about Crowley's visit. "But there isn't really anything to do about my… situation, is there?" I ask the brothers. "It's not like there is any kind of problem; no monsters, ghost or whatever to hunt," I pause to sigh, "Only me, stuck in wrong dimension." I'm actually rather pissed about my situation since I feel like angels had no right to pull me away from my own place; it's not my fault I got killed in here. It shouldn't be my problem, I don't belong here. Yet they had some all high and mighty divine right to snatch me from everything I know into something supernatural and really, really dangerous. Didn't they have some other reality me to torment? Well, I got to admit though; I have fantasized about meeting Winchesters, Castiel and Bobby. I've always wanted to meet Bobby, he was so sweet. Too bad he's already dead. I sigh again. It is not like I'm the only Supernatural fan who has daydreamed about meeting them. Though, I realize, I might be the only one destined to be a prophet in here. I chuckle. Careful what you wish for, I guess, since you just might get it.

Dean shakes his head. "Don'tcha speak that way, you ARE our case right now. It is as you said; we don't have any monsters going on, but I take that your case is supernatural enough for us to handle." Sam is nodding besides him in agreement.

I feel the tears burning in my eyes again and I really want to cry like a baby. They are so nice to me. Even though they have never – at least as far as I know – dealt with anything similar, they are really trying to do their best to help me. Well, they have met prophets before, that is true, but both of them have been from 'around here'. I wipe my tears away – Sam and Dean are looking uneasy already, they are so not used to tears, and I have been crying a lot around them.

"Well," I say and try to smile, "When we're leaving?"

Sam shrugs. "Since it is getting late, and we did already pay for another night, I'd say we leave first thing in the morning? All in favor of?"

"Aye," Dean exclaims and I just nod.

xoxoxox

We're on the road again. Dean drives and Sam sits on the front seat, as usual. I'm in the back, again, as usual. I never liked sitting in the backseat, really, when I was younger it made me carsick and when I was older I wanted to drive. Now I don't really mind sitting in the back – it gives me a good sight of all that happens in the car. Mostly that includes only driving in silence, though.

At the moment Sam examines a roadmap that lies opened on his knees. "I think we should have taken the previous turn to right," he finally says, "But I'm not sure." He is tilting his head from shoulder to shoulder to get a better view of the map.

I can't give them any good driving instructions, either. I've never driven from Ohio to Kansas. "Maybe you should buy a navigator," I suggest as Sam pulls the map closer to his face. "That could really help you find the right places without driving astray."

Dean gives me the most nasty and malicious gaze from the rear mirror. "Over my dead body," he states, "We have survived this long without one, and so did our dad before us. We'll find the right way."

Eventually, I add in my mind. I don't dare to say it out loud; I don't want to start another fight. I place myself more comfortably on the seat and start staring out of the window again. Let them handle this thing the way they want; I'm not going to stick my nose in it. They have found their way to countless of places so far, so I bet they'll find the right route to Kansas this time, too. It might take some time, though, but I don't mind. It's not like we are in a rush or anything. Travelling actually gives me time to think things, and mostly I'm cursing the few angels that I know by name to the deepest pit of the hell. Some place where Crowley could poke them all day in all sorts of nasty places with a poker. The mental image makes me actually smirk.

Sam leans forward to have a look at the instrument panel. "We'd better find it soon, or we run out of gas."

Dean's face, or at least the part I can see from the mirror, looks serious as he hits his palms against the steering wheel. "Dammit," he ejaculates, "Can't you read a map properly?"

For a while they squabble with each other and I stop to listen to them. There is nothing I can do to help them. It seems like they agree on taking the next turn in order to find a gas station and someone who could help us on a right track again. The mood in the car is so tense it is almost palpable.

The next crossroad comes and Dean hits the brakes and the Impala obediently slows down. The road seemed to be much more near due the dull and flat terrain. I guess we're already somewhere in Indiana. In a sudden twitch the car stops completely.

"Holy shit, do you see the same as I do?" Dean asks and stares at the sign that stands next to the road. I peer out of the window. "Isn't that something," Sam notes, and I must agree with him.

WELCOME TO WINCHESTER

We drove in a town called Winchester just by chance, that seems little bit too convenient to me. I can't believe that is just coincidence.

"I think I like this place already," Dean says and I can hear from his voice that he is smiling even though I don't see his face as I stare at the sign with my mouth opened. He slowly accelerates and makes the turn to Winchester.

We arrive to the town from North. It is a very small place, which seems pretty obvious to me just by looking at it. Both men sit in silence, but somehow I can sense they are excited. I giggle. They are just like little children that just found out that a book they're reading has a character of same name. The main street of the town is surprisingly wide and we find the gas station easily, and not a moment too early; I can already see the red light burning in the panel as Dean parks the car in front of the worn-out and dirty building. As Dean gets up from the car – Sam and I remain seated in – a man wearing a checked shirt, leather vest and jeans comes out of the station building. He has tenuous brown beard and a greasy ponytail that swings on his neck as he walks towards us. I open my seatbelt; I want to use the chance to stretch my limbs as the stop might take some time. The station seems to have a little grocery store attached to it.

"How can I help you?" the man asks hoarsely as he comes closer. He looks to be in his late thirties.

Dean leans against the Impala's roof and I can hear him patting it gently, though I only see his lower torso and waist from the window. "I'd appreciate if you'd fill her up," he tells the man, "and we'd also need some instructions; seems we're little lost in here."

The older man looks first at Dean with evaluative gaze and then turns his eyes on the Impala. "It takes only a moment," he promises and then continues: "What a real beauty you have here."

Dean grunts though he sounds pleased. I know how proud he is of his 'baby'. "Yeah, I've been trying to take a good care of her since my dad left her to me," he says proudly. I see the man's nodding in approval as he walks to the fuel pump. While he start's it up, I open the door and get up. "I'll go to see whether they have a bathroom," I explain to Sam and I'm not kidding; I suddenly realized I HAVE TO pee. We've been driving since early morning without any breaks. "You want something?" I ask Sam before slamming the door closed, but he shakes his head. I ask the same question from Dean but he doesn't even hear me; he is engrossed in a discussion with the other man.

The inside of the building is just as worn out as the outside suggested, but everything is clean. That is a welcome surprise. An elderly lady sits behind the desk and seems to be working on a crossword as I step in. In an instant she raises her head and flashes me a friendly smile. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asks.

I smile back at her. "Do you have a restroom somewhere?"

She gestures me a direction. "Just around the corner, here's the key."

I take the big old fashioned key she hands me and thank her before skittering to the guided direction. I find the bathroom easily, it not like the place would have a lot of various doors, and to make it even simpler the door is marked with a bronze sign sculpturing a little girl sitting on a chamber pot. The toilet, for my relief, is spotless and non-malodorous, too. Few minutes later I return the key to the lady. I don't venture to leave without purchasing something, so I quickly scan through the shelves packed with groceries and think of 56 bucks I still have in my pocket. I can't afford to buy anything expensive, so I quickly choose a small bag of peanuts. I'm already putting my changes back to my pocket as my eyes meet a title of a local newspaper in a rag next to cashier and on a whim I decide to buy that too.

I skim through the back page as I walk back to the car. Dean has spread a map over the hood of the Impala and the man in the checked shirt is explaining something – most likely the right way – to him. Sam has gotten up, too, and he us standing next to others but he's not looking at the map; he's scanning through the street with a little smile on his lips. Well, it is not like you find a city that has your name every day. I open the back door and take a seat, my feet still hanging out side. The weather is actually pretty nice; it is warm for the season, and sun is shining from the cloudless sky even though it is already a late afternoon. I shake the newspaper open and the head line blows up in my face.

ANOTHER BODY FOUND IN SUMMIT LAKE

"Where's Summit Lake?" I wonder aloud though I know no one can hear me at the moment. I read quickly forward. It seems there have been three disappearances and two bodies found mauled in Summit Lake State Park and Prairie Creek Reservoir area – where ever they are, but I think they are not far away. The authorities believe it could be a cougar or a wolf, if there weren't the burns. All of the bodies had burned skin on them.

I finish reading the tiding and I stare at it. This is smells like a Supernatural kind of case to me, yet I can't believe it could be. It all seems too convenient. Sam comes by the car and Dean still chats with the other man, though he is already taking steps towards the building. Dean thanks him for help and then opens the front door. "Let's go, we now have directions," he says cheerfully and takes a seat behind the wheel. "Though we might wanna grab a bite whilst we are here."

Sam stands next to me tilting his head to read the headline, too. "Let me see that," he then demands and before I manage to answer him he snatches the paper from my hands.

Dean turns around on his seat to see us better. "What is it?" he asks and a wrinkle in between his eyebrows appears again.

Sam flips the paper around in his hands to show the front page to Dean, too. "This might be our kinda thing." Dean stretches his hand to reach the paper. "Show me." Sam does not give the paper to him, though, but he rounds the car to his door and takes a seat next him and then hands it over. As Dean reads the same head line as I and Sam already have, I pull my legs inside of the Impala and close the door.

"It could still be them damn wolves," Dean says as he raises his eyes from the page and folds the paper.

Sam nods and strokes a hair lock that keeps falling over his eyes behind its proper place behind the ear. "Worth investigating, though, don't you think?" Dean agrees and then turns over to look at me. "If that's okay with you?" he asks me and stares me right in the eyes.

I blink. Why would they ask my permission? I must look as confused as I am, since Sam clarifies: "We were kind of investigating another case; yours. So if you don't want any delays, we could come back here later."

I shake my head. "It's not like rushing would make my situation any clearer," I tell them and then hesitate a bit. What am I going to do while they hunt? It's not really my place to make any demands, though. "I can't be telling you how to do your job," I finally continue, "So you don't even have to ask me. Plus, if there is something your kinda business going on around here, I would feel bad if more people died or went missing because I didn't let you guys do your thing."

Sam and Dean look content and somehow I feel like I just passed some kind of a test. I wonder whether they really would have left Winchester without proper investigation even if I had demanded that we continue our journey at once.

Dean starts the engine. "So, let's go find a motel or something, we're back in business."

xoxoxox

Again I sit alone in a motel room. This is getting rather boring, I guess being a hunter really isn't all that glamorous one could have thought, most of the time sitting in a car or in a motel room. Or maybe it is just because I don't really get to do anything; I don't have a suit and fake badge, so I can't go investigating with them, and I have absolutely no experience on hunting; I would be a nuisance. About half an hour earlier we arrived at the motel called The Lucky Rose, and surprise surprise; it is almost identical to every other motel rooms I've stayed during the last week or so. As soon as we got in Sam and Dean changed on their suits – and I got admit, they look damn good on those – grabbed some fake FBI badges and left me alone in order to go to the local police station. I've opened my computer, but I have no inspiration to surf in internet right now. I'm just sitting in front of it and staring at the blank screen.

I am so bored.

I slam the laptop closed and make my way to the shabby couch we have in the room and open television. After surfing meaninglessly over the confined channel list – twice – I leave a local station open and throw the remote control from my hands. I don't even have ANYTHING to read. If I had realized that before I could have bought a paperback or something else from the gas station. I'm too cowardice to go outside alone – seriously, demons scare the shit out of me – and I don't even have a clue where I could find a store from this small town. I glance at the gun the brothers left me again. It makes me feel oddly safe. Even though I know that won't do much good against most of the supernatural creatures. But at least I have some protection against 'normal' threats, such as muggers, if I actually was attacked.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I know is that I wake up. I'm still in the couch, leaning against its arm. I straighten myself and yawn. At least this time I didn't find myself from my own room – I've been scared of another transition since Castiel brought me back here. Though I'm still not sure I want to be here. Before I took the quick trip back to my own dimension all I wanted was to get back. But now, knowing that Crowley – and probably a bunch of other demons – can cross the boundary between the dimension as easily as angels can, I've had mixed feelings about going back. I'm scared that if I go back I'm going to get killed there, too. Since I can't really take the Winchesters with me, to help and protect me. I don't know whether that is even possible, and I don't think I could live with the knowledge that on expense of my protection this world would be two great hunters shorter. Not even mentioning the closing the Hell's gates mission they're working with now. I couldn't even ask them to try to leave with me. All of this makes me so confused and I massage my temples with the tips of my fingers.

I also realize it must be getting rather late; the day light that is filtered to the room through the shades is already getting dim. I start to wonder where the brothers are, I'm pretty sure they should've come back by now. Maybe they found something they can't ignore and are getting rid of it. Even though I try to reason with myself I'm starting to feel uneasy. Where are they? I'm thinking of calling them on their cells, but I don't have my own cell, that is probably somewhere in my hometown's police station in an evidence room. I could use the phone in the room, or be brave enough to go outside looking for a payphone, but before I execute either of the plans I realize I don't have their numbers.

Shit. How I could have been so stupid that I didn't ask for the numbers? Why it didn't occur to me that I might need them? I curse my stupidity as I get up and start walking around the room aimlessly – that is what I do when I'm nervous.

Suddenly I hear a rustle from the door. Before thinking I rush to the table – that's where the gun is lying. I snag it on my right hand and the steel feels chill and soothing against my sweaty palm. I aim the gun to the door. I'm ready – at least as ready as I could ever be – so bring it on.

xoxoxox

Holy shit, holy shit, HOLY SHIT. That was the only thought spinning in Dean's head. He wasn't sure what the hell had just happened but about one thing he was absolutely positive; it wasn't anything good. Dean clasped his gun in his hand with as tight grip as he could while he ran through thick bushes moving as fast as he could. And the worst thing wasn't that he had something he had no idea of its identity chasing after him but that he didn't know where Sammy was.

Suddenly an unexpected a fireball flew by him so close that he could actually feel its heat. And he was pretty sure he smelled the reek of burning hair, too. With pure instinct he dodged the next fireball by tumbling to his right. He could hear it ram the tree he was hiding behind.

_This is bad_, Dean thought by himself and raised his gun to the position it would be quick and easy to fire, if needed. He figured that the… the _creature_, whatever it was, would know his whereabouts, so he decided to call for his brother.

"Sammy!" he yelled as hard and high as he could. He was still panting because of the sprint he took and his lungs were burning, but he didn't care. He NEEDED to find Sam.

No answer. All Dean could hear was the silent burning of the patches that had caught fire. "Dammit," he muttered by himself. Sam would probably try to get to the car – if he could, but Dean pushed all the suspicions out of his mind – so that's where he needed to get. Too bad he had run to the opposite direction as he had fled from the thing. What the hell it even was? Dean had no idea, but he'd check dad's journal; there might be an answer, John had known almost every creature Dean had ever hunted. But this fire breathing bastard – as Dean had named it – was something new to him, as he was pretty sure it wasn't a dragon.

Carefully he got up from his hiding spot and moving with a soldier-like running, holding his gun ready, he started to make his way back to the Impala. The dark forest was suspiciously quiet. Where did the bastard go?

His way back seemed much shorter than the actual running, and he found the Impala waiting for him at the exact spot he had left her. But there was no sign of Sammy. He called for his brother again.

_Bitch, where the hell are you? _Dean thought and pressed his unarmed hand against his rib that was stinging like hell. It was already really late, the sun had already set. They'd need to get back to the motel, back to Iria. She'd been alone for way too long. Dean only hoped she hadn't done anything stupid, such as going out, it would suck if the girl got in trouble while they were away. After catching his breath Dean straightened the collar of his jacket – the suit had gotten so dirty Dean suspected he'd need to buy a new one – and went to the trunk to pick up a flashlight. He would find his brother, no matter what.

Dean found the place they had first encountered with the thing. None of the normal stuff had worked against it and soon they realized they were outnumbered. What a great idea it had been to go straight looking for their supernatural being, but it had appeared to be a normal ghost. Some iron and salt should have done the trick, for at least to buy some time to search for its earthly remains. But NO, this BASTARD didn't like being hit with an iron bar, but it had COMPLETELY IGNORED salt. It took no damage from it, and it scared Dean more than he was ready to admit, even to himself.

He had no hard time to follow the trail they had made with Sam, it really looked like a mad bull had made its way through the bushes. Finding the point where they had been separated was way more difficult, Dean wasn't even sure that at which point he had realized Sam wasn't running besides him.

Then he heard the silent moan and quickly turned the spotlight towards the sound. Dean couldn't have been more relieved as he recognized Sam, who was lying in the between two roots of a some big tree – Dean wasn't good at identifying tree species, and frankly speaking he wasn't even interested; all he cared about right now was his brother, who had curled his arms around his chest.

"Sammy, thank god I found you," Dean said and kneeled next to his brother. "You 'kay?"

Sam looked up to him and shook his head. Dean could see the pain burning in his eyes. "No, got burned pretty bad, I guess," he managed to say.

Dean frowned. "Let me see that." He seized Sam's hands and gently removed them from his chest. Sam moaned again during the process. "Holy shit," escaped from Dean's lips as he saw his brother's chest. His coat and shirt had been burned so badly that there were few holes that were bigger that Dean's palm. From those parts Sam's skin was red and covered in pus. "Okay," he said, "we gotta get you outta here. You think you could walk?"

Sam nodded faintly. "I guess."

Dean pulled his brother to his feet, but Sam's knees almost immediately bent under his weight. "Woah, careful there," he exclaimed and wrapped his other arm under Sam's arms. "C'mon, let me help you."

Dean was half carrying, half dragging his brother as they made their way back to the Impala. Dean was grateful the creature hadn't shown up during the journey, maybe it has lost them somewhere in the forest. He helped Sam to the backseat so that he could lie down. "We're gonna fix you up," Dean said though he wasn't sure whether he was trying to reassure Sam or himself. On their way back to the motel Dean exceeded the speed limits so boldly he was glad there were no police around. It would have been hard to explain his brother's condition to anyone. Then finally – regardless the speeding the way back seemed too long – Dean saw the motel's sign and drove next to their door.

"Okay, you gotta get up," Dean said to Sam and pulled him up. At this point Sam was almost unconscious and Dean had trouble with picking him up. Why he had to be so tall, Dean thought by himself as he almost carried Sam to the door. He pushed the handle, but the door remained closed.

Shit. He kicked the door. What the hell was that girl doing if she couldn't answer the door? "Iria, you in there?" Dean yelled and kicked the door again.

xoxoxox

"You in there?"

The voice calling me is definitely Dean's, but yet I aim the gun towards the door. He wouldn't bother to knock, I tell myself, he would have just barged in. And he would be accompanied by Sam, Dean would not come alone and then just knock the door. I doubt this to be some kind of demonic scheme; they expect me to answer the door and then attack, while I'm off guard. And there is no way a demon could just sneak in, every exit's been salted.

"Open the door, dammit!" I hear someone kick the door. "Hurry up, we don't have all night, Sam needs some nursing!" His voice sound genuinely desperate. "Open the door or I'll just kick it in, and I'm gonna make sure you'll be the one to pay the bill!"

Well, maybe the demons are just damn good copycats or then it actually IS Dean. And apparently Sam is hurt. I rush to the door but I don't lower the gun. As soon as I open slightly the door Dean pushes it wide open with his shoulder. "That was about the time to open the frigging door," he chides me.

I'm about to say something witty back to him as I notice Sam and the words die on my lips. "Oh my god, what happened?" I rush to Sam's other side and help Dean to get him in the bed. I smell burned flesh and that smell makes me feel sick. "I thought you were just gonna visit police station and such, not going for a full scale hunt!"

I'm not sure whether Dean heard me as he is stripping Sam out of his burned clothes. "Go get me some towels and cold water," he orders me and I don't object; he's probably more experienced in treating wounds than I am, even though I have taken a first-aid course. The towels are easy to find – I just hope they are clean enough, I don't want any suspicious germs on Sam's burn – but only big enough container to carry water is the trash bin. As I have no other options, I remove the plastic bag from it and rush to the bathroom. I wash the bucket with hot water and soap before filling it with as cold water as the tap provides.

When I place the bucket next to Dean he dips a towel in it and then wraps it around Sam's chest. He moans silently in agony. I'd like to help more but there is actually nothing I could do.

"I think I saw a soda machine outside," I tell Dean, "I go check whether they have ice."

Not waiting for an answer I turn on my heels and walk out of door. Well, I stop for long enough to snatch the keys from the table on my way out.

I realize I forgot the gun as I walk towards the machine, but I don't think I'm going to get attacked right now, so I don't return for it. I reach the machine and I'm relieved to notice that it serves ice, too. Now I only have one problem; how to carry the ice cubes back to the room that really didn't occur to me before. I shuck my coat and start placing ice over it. It will get wet, but that is not a problem; it is only water, it will dry. Getting ice to Sam is far more important than a dry jacket.

"What the hell are you doing?" an angry voice asks and I startle as I didn't hear anyone approaching. I quickly turn around to face the speaker, who turns out to be a man in his thirties, wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. I recognize him from reception; he must have seen me taking an excessive amount of ice. "You can't take that much ice, lady, at least without purchasing soda, too," he says to me, confirming my doubts about his intentions. He looks tired and irritated; he probably didn't want to deal with troublesome customers on his graveyard shift.

For few seconds I struggle with words as I try to come up with a reasonable explanation. Then I decide that going with truth – well, a bit modified truth – is probably the best approach. "We had a little accident in our room," I tell him, "and well, my, umm, friend, burned, umm, his hand. Yes, his hand, that's it. I'm taking some ice to him to soothe the pain." Then I try to flash him an apologizing smile.

Apparently he is buying my story. "Is your friend ok?" the man asks and he looks genuinely worried. "No need to call 911?"

I shake my head. "No no, the ice will probably do the trick." I lean towards the man and lower my voice a bit: "Personally I think he made a bigger deal out of it than it actually was. He's kind of a drama queen, once in a while. I only came to pick up the ice to please him and to make him stop his ranting." And that is not the case at all, but I don't want him coming checking on our room now or later. That would be awkward and troublesome. I wrap the ice – I don't dare to take any more of it since I don't want him to become suspicious – in my coat and pick the package up. "I'd better take these to him." I smile again as I turn around and skitter back to our room.

"Okay, have a nice evening, I hope your friend gets better!" the man calls out after me before returning to the reception. I sigh in relief. That was a close one.

Inside I drop my jacket on the floor next to Dean. "That's all I could take, I hope they'll do some good."

Dean just nods and opens my wrapped jacket. He places some of the ice on top of a towel that lies on Sam's chest. He moans again, and I'm not sure whether he is even conscious. I bite my lip and hope we really don't need to take him to a hospital. I slump myself on the other bed. "What happened out there?" I finally ask from Dean as it looks like he has done everything he cans to do to help his brother.

Dean gets up from his knees and sits beside me. He rests his elbows against his thighs and lowers his head to his palms. He takes a deep sigh. "I dunno," he tells me, "it was supposed to be a normal ghost, everything referred to that. So we had all the normal gear, salt and stuff, you probably know, and we went out there to find out its motives and identity so we could dig him up to salt 'n' burn his remains." He takes a long pause and looks at Sam. "Turned out that son of a bitch wasn't a normal ghost after all. All we could think of – iron, salt, holy water – all were just… useless against it."

Dean tells me that they went to the local station to collect information and then made all the regular stuff they do on a hunt. Based on their information they had tracked down the creature to Summit Lake State Park. Then, as soon as they had realized the thing was something else than a normal ghost, they had escaped as they couldn't fight it off. They got separated in the woods and Dean went back to search for Sam and found him in that state.

After Dean finishes his story I sit quietly for a while. "Any idea what it was?" I ask then.

Dean shakes his head. We sit in a silence for a while and then agree that we should probably get some sleep. Dean gives me the bed – again – and somehow I get the feeling he isn't planning on sleeping anyways. It takes me a while to fall asleep but finally I do.

xoxoxox


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Whatever you think you saw is probably out there, so be careful.**

I startle awake. The room is still dark and I don't know what woke me up. The alarm clock displays that time is bit over three o'clock in the morning. Everything is quiet, too. I sit up and let my eyes sweep through the room. Apparently Dean has passed out at some time since he is sleeping – still in a sitting position, but snoring loudly.

"Iria, you awake?"

Sam's question startles me, again.

"Holy crap, Sam, you scared me. I was already sure that there was a ghost or demon in here, or something." I turn to face Sam, who is still lying on the bed, but his eyes are open. He looks apologetic. "Sorry," he whispers to me.

"Never mind that," I answer to him, lowering my voice too. I don't want to wake up Dean, I bet he needs all the sleep he can have. "How are you feeling?"

"Hurt," he answers and gives me a faint smile. "You know how badly I was burned?"

I shrug. "You have few big burned areas on your chest, but we put some ice and cold towels on them. I think none of them is lethal."

Sam sighs and bangs his head against his pillow, eyes shut. "Dammit." Then he opens his eyes again. "You think you could get me a glass of water and a pain killer? There should some in the first-aid kit."

"Sure." I get up from the bed and delve into a bag that is full of guns ammo and other hunter stuff until I find the kit. After quick scanning through I find a package of pills, snap one out of the plate and bring it to Sam. "There you go. You should go back to sleep," I tell him, "Sleeping is the best way to get you better."

He agrees and we go back to sleep, though it takes forever for me to sack out. I fall asleep wondering what was the thing that attacked the boys.

The next morning I wake up and my head feels heavy and blurry. I'm still half asleep as I wander to the bathroom to pee. I sit on the seat and sudden the sound of dripping water clears my drowsy thoughts and I notice Dean has gone to shower – without bothering to close the bathroom door, or so it would seem since it was open when I got in. I blink twice as I realize I have a perfect view to the shower from my spot on the toilet seat. Luckily – or sadly, I'm not sure which one – he has pulled the curtain to separate the bathtub from the rest of the room.

"Sam, that you?" he calls out as he must have heard me stumble in. "Man, you should be lying down, you're hurt pretty badly."

I hear silent squeal of the tap as he closes the running water. Shit, this is bad. I quickly get up from the seat and I'm planning to dash out the door before Dean realizes it is me and not his baby brother, but I'm too slow; in a one swing he pushes the curtain off. "Mind handing me a tow…" he stops in the middle of the sentence and blinks, probably because he is surprised to see me, not Sam. For whole 5 seconds or so we just stare at each other.

"Holy shit, Iria," he finally says, "Well, this is awkward, I thought you were Sammy. How about that towel?"

I can feel my face turning bright red. "Umm, yeah," I lean to swipe one from the table besides the sink and toss it to him. "I didn't see anything," I mumble as I turn on my heels and dash out the room, though I think it is pretty obvious to him that I saw everything, and I mean EVERYTHING. Holy shit, his words and yet so accurate.

As I rush to the room I see that Sam is waken and laughing his ass off. "Not funny," I snap on him, which only makes him guffaw even louder.

"Shut you pie hole before you hurt yourself more," Dean says, his voice coming right behind me. My shoulders stiffen and I turn to face him. And there he stands, wearing only the white towel around his hips, the perfectly shaped chest covered in tiny water drops, looking like a fucking male model, smiling his lopsided smile… I quickly shake my head to snap out of it and I'd really like to slap myself on the cheek, but luckily I realize how retarded that would look like. So I settle for a quick pinch on my forearm.

God, I'm so stupid.

Dean tilts his head slightly and looks me straight into eyes. "What's wrong, sister, never seen a naked man?" Off course he had to make a joke out of it, that is what he does. Then, if possible, the redness of my face deepens and I want to sink six feet under to escape this situation.

Sam clears his throat, and I'm thankful for him for that; now I have a perfectly good reason to look at him and not to answer Dean. "How's the pain?" I ask.

He gives me a faint smile. "Nothing so bad I couldn't deal with." Then he tries to get up and a pain flashes through his face. I grab him by shoulder to support him, but he gestures me to let go. "Seriously, I've had worse," he explains and sits up, though I can see he is hurting. But I also know he doesn't want me to make big fuzz out of it. Darn men, I sigh internally.

I sit on the bed next to Sam. "So, what do we do next? I guess Sam is in no condition to go out and hunt some blazing bastard you know nothing about."

Sam shakes his head. "We don't' even know what the thing is. We shouldn't rush into this, anyways."

I snort. "Like you didn't rush into this last night? Well, if running to the creatures arms wasn't rushing to you, I don't know what is."

Both men look a bit offended. "Everything was referring it to be a normal ghost," Dean finally says, and I can hear the irritation in his voice. "A normal ghost we can handle, even one hand tight to back."

Sam gives him his best bitch face to his brother. "Though Iria might have a point; we SHOULD have made some research before attacking it in haste." He tries to get up again and his face twists as his burns are hurting him. "We should do some research. I'm still in shape good enough to do that, it's not like searching web would require any physical exertion."

Dean agrees. "So we'll hit the library while you do your thing in here, alright?"

WE?

Few moments later I find myself sitting once again in the Impala – this time, since Sam's not with us, I made it to the front seat. I run my fingers against the dashboard, and it feels smooth. I sigh. She truly is a beautiful car, and it's not all fan-talk. The Impala is in great shape for such an old car (even though I know all the damage she has taken along the years). Dean has really made a wonderful job with her. I mention my thoughts to Dean as he sits behind the wheel next to me. He looks supremely proud and petting gently the wheel in front of him answers to me: "Yeah, she's a good girl. Baby has sure been through lot, yet she carries us faithfully." Dean has a gentle smile on his lips, and that makes me smile too, for some reason. Maybe it's his genuine smile – which by the way makes him look even MORE gorgeous. I hope I'm not drooling all over the place.

I'm still daydreaming as Dean starts the engine.

We have no trouble in finding the library – Winchester isn't really that big town. And as one could assume, the library isn't that big and well-endowed. We find only a dozen or so books that handle demons or other supernatural things piled on the desk between us, and out of those book Dean disqualifies few without even bothering to open them. When I ask him why, he taps the cover of one book: "This one I've read from cover to cover, it's not useful. The others just look like a ton of crap to me."

I shrug. Who am I to question his judgment? He has been doing this job all his life; I just started, like ten minutes ago. Therefore I take a book – one Dean has approved – and flip the first page open. "So," I start as I browse through the pages that have considerably little amount of text and lot of nice, colorful pictures, "What exactly I'm supposed to search for?"

Dean raises his gaze from the other book to meet mine. "Dunno," he finally answers me, "anything that could be our guy."

I nod, feeling stupid. That was kind of obvious, now that I think about it. My cheeks must be burning red – again – but thankfully Dean doesn't joke about it this time.

"Knowledge is power, in our… profession. And I really wanna kick this bastard's ass," Dean continues and then quickly smiles at me. "It has become personal now." Then he engrosses himself with the book again. And I do the same with mine.

After an hour or so of fruitless reading I feel like throwing away the book. They never made it clear in the show how BORING the investigating part can really be. Well, I guess it wouldn't do any good to the rates to show Sam and Dean reading hours after hours, episodes after episode. I fling the book away from my hands. "I'd bet it was dragon, if you already hadn't fought few of those," I hiss at Dean.

He looks at me, surprised. "It amazes me again, how much you know about us." He utters a little laughter. "Yeah, I guess it could be a dragon. Though, after seeing it, I'd claim otherwise."

He slams his book closed. "But you're right; this is boring the shit out of me, too. Let's take the rest of the books with us, Sam likes reading better than me anyways. Plus, I'm really hungry." He stands up and stretches his arms. "Let's go to find something to eat. They should have some sufficient diners around here."

xoxoxox

We are already getting back to car, my stomach full of French fries and a really delicious bacon & cheese burger, as Dean's cell rings. Dean digs the cell out of his pocket and the ringing reminds me of the fact that I still don't have the phone numbers of the brothers. I remind myself to get them; preferably as soon as possible.

"Hello?" Dean answers. "Yes, I am. Yes. Really? Where did – oh, we'll be there in, let's say, half an hour." He hits the red button. "It was the sheriff," Dean explains to me as he sees my questioning face, "And apparently there has been another incident. Get in the car."

I obey him and ask him as he takes seat next to me: "Shouldn't we tell to Sam?"

Dean nods. "Yeah, probably. Though he is SO NOT coming with us, though I know the bitch would like to." Then he hands me his phone. "You make the call, I drive. That way we'll get there faster.

I wonder since when Dean has cared about talking in the cell while driving, but I take the phone anyways. Maybe he thinks Sam would not argue his decision to leave him behind if I was one to tell him. I chuckle. Great, now I'm the one who's going to stand in between their fights. I make the call, nevertheless.

As I deduced, Sam's not happy about the information, but at least he does not start an argue with me.

"_You found anything useful from the library?" _he asks me.

I shake my head though I KNOW he can't see me; it just something that comes to me naturally. "No," I answer him, "have you had any luck?"

"_Nope, not really so far." _Then he is silent for a moment long enough for me to start wondering whether there is something wrong with the line. _"I'll keep on searching," _he finally says, _"You be careful in there. This thing hasn't attacked in broad daylight. Yet. But we don't need more victims."_

I tell him we'll be super careful and after that he hangs up on me. I hand over the phone back to Dean and he shoves it back into his pocket.

"You know, I don't have your numbers," I tell him after a short silence. "I could have used them the other day."

Dean glances at me quickly. "Oh, you're right. That didn't even occur to me," he says and then quickly squints. "You don't have a cell phone, either." That isn't really a question, but I shake my head anyways. "Damn, why didn't I realize that before," Dean curses, "You'll really need one, now that you're in this hunt with us."

Little chills run through my spine. _In this hunt with them. _That makes me feel good, to belong somehow into this reality. Though it also scares the hell out of me; this hunting crap is seriously SCARY. It is very different to watch it from your cozy couch than to actually live through it.

Dean leans over and opens the clove compartment. "There, pick one," he says to me. There are at least dozen of cell phones in the box. I wonder what on earth they do with all of them, but I don't really care. So I just pick up one. Dean glimpses my choice. "Oh," he mutters, "out all those…" Then he looks me quickly in the eyes. "Not that one," he says to me and there is a bit sharp tone in his voice, "that was dads."

"Oh," I whisper and the gently put the cell back where I took it. "I'm sorry, I didn't –"

Dean interrupts me: "No, don't apologize, you couldn't know. Just take some other."

I take another one in my hand and show it to Dean, but I guess that one is okay since says nothing about it. The cell is open and – miraculously – it has almost half of its battery left. Kind of makes me wonder how often they do charge these extra phones. I open the contacts list and I'm about to ask for their numbers but then I notice the only contacts in the memory are "Sammy", "Dean" and "Bobby". I bite my lower lip and say nothing. I wonder whether I should delete "Bobby", but I don't have heart to do that. And I AM still hoping that he'd come back to the show – well, back to this reality? – since the main characters tend to screw Death. I put the cell into my pocket.

Few minutes later we see few police cars parked on the side of the road. Dean pulls the Impala from the road and parks behind them. "Dammit," he mutters, "this is the place we were last night. Seems like someone found the burned area we left behind." Then he turns to look at me. "Maybe it's a good thing; there probably aren't more victims than Sam." I nod and we get up from the car.

"Special agent Anderson!"

Dean turns on his heels – I'm already looking the right direction – to face a police officer, somewhere in his thirties, jogging towards us. He stopped next to us and continues catching his breath: "Great, it really was you; I wasn't sure since you're not wearing a suit."

Oops, he is right; Dean is wearing his normal gear – jeans, black t-shirt and army green jacket. I didn't even think we should have gone to change clothes. I take a quick peek at myself; black jeans, red tank top and dark blazer. I'm not really agent-ish myself either. And the police officer has noticed that too, at least deducing from the suspicious look he gives to me. "Who's she?" he asks to confirm my doubts.

Dean glances at me, and I can see that's he neither has realized before that I might need a cover story. And I don't' even have fake ID. "She," Dean starts, stretching the word to give him more time to come up with something believable. "My consultant," he finally concludes his sentence and then adapts an apologizing expression and gestures towards his clothes, "And sorry for my inappropriate outfit, I was not on duty when you called, and I thought I'd hurry here and not waste time on changing clothes."

The explanations seem to satisfy the cop. "Yeah, sure, great to now the FBI agents are so devoted to their jobs that they even sacrifice their free time," he says. "Where's the tall guy? Agent Bourne?"

I disguise my laughter to be a cough.

Dean looks at the officer, smiling to fade away all the possible doubts. "He is investigating the evidence we have gathered so far." Well, at least that wasn't a complete lie.

"Naturally," the officer says nodding. "Please, follow me; I'll take you to the place." Then without waiting for our response he turns around and starts walking towards the thin forest that borders the road. As we follow him I lean towards Dean and whisper to him: "Agents Bourne and Anderson? Seriously?" I smother my giggle again.

"Shh," Dean hushes me, but smiles and winks at me.

After few minutes of walking we reach a really burned area. Dean whistles. "Oh wow, this looks really bad. Anyone gone missing?"

The officer shakes his head. "Not anyone that we know of. No new reports on missing person. Some hiker just found this and called 911, since he had read about the disappearances."

Dean nods and furrows his brows.

I let my gaze wander around the burned area. Grass has blackened from large areas, some bushes are nothing more than charred sticks sticking out of the ground and even trees are burned from here and there. I wonder how an earth did Sam and Dean escape from here, since judging from the damage the environment has taken, the flames have been all over the place. I spend my time walking around the place as Dean 'investigates' the place with the officers.

Then suddenly, I hear something. "What's that?" I ask aloud.

Dean stops whatever he was doing and comes to me. "What's what?"

I tilt my head and look at him frowning my eyebrows. "Can't you hear that?"

xoxoxox

Sam's sitting at the table as we barge in. He raises his head from the screen of his computer to look at us. "What's up, did you find out anything?" he asks as I sit beside him. Dean throws himself on the small couch we have in the room. "Well… Kinda," he answers to his brother and Sam looks confused.

"The place was the same you were last night," I explain to him as Dean did not answer to him, he's just lying on the couch looking rather bitter – though I have no idea why.

"So did you find any clues, or..?" Sam continues asking.

I take a breath to tell him, but Dean beats me to it. "Either we have a selective ghost – or whatever the creature is – or then we have a nut case future prophet here," he says and stares at me.

"I'm telling you, I wasn't imagining it!" I snap at him. Poor Sam looks even more confused at this point. "What's going on?" he demands to know and leans backwards altering his gaze between me and Dean.

I take a quick glimpse at Dean before answering to Sam. "I heard a noise at the scenery," I say and my voice isn't louder than a whisper. For some reason I feel unease to admit it to him that I was the only one hearing it.

Dean snorts. "You know, I'd claim she's nuts – like we thought from the very moment we met her – if Cas hadn't told us she is a future prophet."

Sam ignores his brother and looks at me, straight in the eyes. "What kind of noise?"

I swallow before answering him: "It sounded like a crying baby to me." I know I sound crazy, but I know what I heard. And frankly speaking; nothing that happens in this reality could possibly amaze me anymore.

"Really?" For some reason Sam sounds enthusiastic and therefore I raise my head to meet his eyes. "You believe me?" I ask, "Since your JERK brother didn't."

Sam gives Dean a reproachful glance. "You, out of all people, should believe in all sorts of bizarre things –"

"That's what I TOLD him," I mutter.

"—and take this stuff seriously," Sam continues without letting me interrupt his speech. Dean mutters something that sounds awfully lot like 'yadda yadda' to me before answering: "But I didn't hear anything."

Now is Sam's turn to snort. "Well, that's too bad." Then he turns back to his computer. "The good thing is," he starts and clicks the computer few times, "that I now know what our creature is!"

Dean jumps up from the couch and comes to stand next his brother. "Really? Show me." Dean pushes his hands against the surface of the table and leans forward to read from the screen. After few moments he says: "How do you even pronounce the bastard's name?"

Sam clicks again and the computer reads aloud: "Liekkiö."

Sam looks at his brother. "Like that, apparently. Liekkiös are part of the Finnish folklore, and their name translates roughly as 'flamey'. And they are ghosts of bastard children whose souls can't go to heaven since they have not been buried at the graveyard and were not blessed by a priest. Therefore they became ghosts that can be seen as a flame in the forest and they can make terrible noises, such as child's cry."

"That's sounds about right," I admit. "Does it say how to vanquish this liekkiö-thing?"

Sam nods. "The only way to get rid of it is to find it remains and bury it in graveyard."

I smile. That shouldn't be too hard, I guess. Sounds like something the brothers do on daily basis. "So we only need to find its earthly remains, right?" I ask them.

Sam nods. "That's about right. Though it might not be an easy task; we have no idea where they've been buried." Oh gosh, why didn't I think of that?

"Apparently not on holy soil," Dean mutters. I utter laughter, but Sam ignores his brother and continues: "I'm pretty sure we can confine the ground to the area attacks have been on, but it's still quite large area to start digging holes and hope to find an infant's remains."

I've watched enough Supernatural to know what's going to happen next. "So we do some more research to find out if there is a pattern in these attacks?" I say and feel really satisfied in myself as both of them nod simultaneously. Dean sighs and I turn to see what the matter with him is. He raises his right eyebrow as he meets my puzzled gaze. "You do realize this means more library, right?" I grunt. No, I did not realize that. Dammit. But I decide to deal with it, if he does too.

Sam alters his gaze between the two of us. "C'mon, it can't be that bad. I could come with you, if—"

"No," Dean and I yell simultaneously interrupting him in midsentence, and then it is settled. We head back to downtown, and I can't help myself, but I swear Sam had a smug expression as we took off. Eventually Dean had noticed the same thing as he asked me: "Did you see his face? He planned this, that bitch."

xoxoxox

The librarian recognizes us as soon as we walk in. "Back so soon?" she asks and gives us a friendly smile. She is in her early thirties, I would guess, and she seems to be a nice person. Dean smiles back to her (one of those sexy model smiles of his). "Yeah, we kinda run out of things to read," he answers and then leans to the desk to get closer to the librarian. "Listen," he says lowering his voice as a grumpy looking old man reading a paper coughed and gave him a nasty look scowl for speaking out too loudly, "We're interested in local history and such, do you have an archive of old newspapers somewhere in here?"

She nods and gets up from her seat behind the desk."We do have all the local papers back to 1903, if I remember correctly. Let me show you."

"That should be a good start," Dean replies and follows the librarian. I follow him, as if I'd have any other choice. Reading the old papers is probably going to be so much fun that I'm afraid I might fall asleep. At least I hope they have the papers copied into digital form; browsing through old and most likely dusty papers would be even greater pain in the ass.

Luckily my prayers have been heard since the librarian leads us to four computers that are standing on a high tables – which means no sitting while reading. "Here they are. All the computers have access to our database. Let me know, if there is any problems, I'm not sure when the last time they were used was."

We both thank her and she is already leaving when she suddenly turns on her heels. "If you're interested in local history, you should talk to my uncle. He knows the history of the area better than anyone."

That could be a great thing. Locals could have some information, stories and local legends that never made it to the paper. Dean seems to be thinking alike – well, I'd be really surprised if he didn't, since I've learned my "knowledge" from him and his brother. "That would be great, especially local stories are usually the best," he says and cracks a smile again. "Where could we find your uncle?"

I turn on one of the computers as Dean receives the information and flirts with the librarian. Well, I guess she could be considered pretty, though I never thought of it – but obviously Dean did.

"That went smoothly," I blurt as Dean comes next to me and the librarian finally leaves. I ignore Dean as he looks slightly baffled – maybe my tone was bit too sharp – and continue: "So, what are we looking for?"

Dean pulls himself together. "Similar cases along the years? Dead infants? Though I doubt any bastard child made it to the paper." I agree with him, but we have no other choice than start reading.

Reading the old newspapers is numbing and time-taking task. After an hour or so my eyes are running with tears because I've been staring at the monitor so intensively. And I haven't found anything similar to these attacks, even though I have browsed through a decade or so. "Any luck?" I ask Dean to just hear my own voice, since I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.

"Nada," Dean replies and leans backwards to stretch his arms. "I say we read another volume, and then we go to talk to this local folklore guy."

I nod and then turn my gaze back to the old paper from 1987 headlining the hot summer weather. What a newsflash. I sigh and click for another headline. This truly is boring, why they never show this side me the investigation in the show? That would probably have a huge negative effect on the viewer ratings, though. I giggle innerly at the thought of endless hours of brothers reading and investigating on screen. What a thriller that would be.

"Aaw, what the hell," Dean sighs after only thirty minutes. "I'm sick of this." Then he searches his pocket for few seconds to pull out his cell phone. "Let's call to that guy, I bet his stories are far more catching than dusty papers."I'd like to point out that there actually is no dust on digitalized papers but I don't want to be cheeky; I'm tired of staring at the screen, too. I wonder how it is possible to browse through your favorite web sites for hours after hours but when reading something that bores you... Well, that makes you sleepy so quickly.

Dean dials the number he got from the librarian and drums his fingernails against the computer desk as he waits for an answer. He notices my stare and quickly smiles at me. And for some reason I feel flush on my cheeks. Dammit, I curse my teenagerish reaction to his perfect smile and swiftly turn my face away from him. This seems to amuse Dean and he's about to say something – probably something witty – but I'm saved by the librarian's uncle as he picks up his phone. I send a quick thank you to the God, where ever he might be. It feels weird; I'm not really praying type. Actually I never believed in God in the first place. Now it is different, though. I know that at least this universe or reality has one. And that is a rather confusing thought

After I'm sure my face isn't red anymore I focus back on Dean and the phone call."Yes, we're interested in local folklore... Especially in that, yes. We'd like to ask you some questions... Today? K, that sounds perfect," Dean glances his watch before continuing: "I guess we could make it in thirty. See you then, and thank you. Bye."I raise my eyebrows as he ends the call. As he sees my asking gaze Dean raises his cell, almost like he's toasting. "Gotta love small towns," he says to me and puts the phone back to the pocket it belongs, "He invited us over."

So without further waiting we get up and orient back to the Impala. On our way out Dean greets the librarian with a nod and smile. She smiles back, and since I'm walking behind Dean I also notice how she checks out Dean's butt as he walks by. I squint at the woman, and luckily she doesn't notice it as I realize I'm being incredibly rude. It is not her fault that Dean is handsome and that he has a great ass.

And it is not really my place to judge others from checking him out. I sigh as I acknowledge I'm being stupid. I don't have any reason to be jealous, right?

xoxoxox

He lives just outside of the downtown in a small, cozy house. The yard is as small as the house, too, but it is filled with various plants: flowers, bushes and trees of all kinds bloom in harmonic unity. I like the place as soon as I lay my eyes upon it from the side window of the Impala.

Dean pulls the car off the road to the driveway that leads to the porch. As we get up a man, probably in his early seventies or late sixties appears on the porch. "I take it that you are Mr. Anderson?" he asks with a hoarse voice and pulls his gray, rather long beard.

"Yes, sir," Dean answers and nods.

"Well, don't just stand in there, please come in." He turns to look at me his eyes squinted; somehow I get the feeling he doesn't see well. "You didn't mention your companion was so lovely. If I had known, I would have arrayed and tidy away my stuff," he says and laughs.

I smile at him. I like this old man.

Inside he leads us to a small drawing room that is, in spite of his words, clean and in good order though it is stuffed with three rather big couches and a small table. Walls are covered with bookshelves full of books of various sizes and colors. A thick oriental carpet lays on the floor. The air smells like cinnamon, which immediately makes me feel hungry and I hope no one else hears my stomach grumble.

The man gestures us to sit on the nearest couch. "Mr. Tru—" Dean begins but he is interrupted. "Please call me Bobby," the elder man says waving his hand to ignore formal language. I can see Dean's expression to gloom as he hears the name, and I know he remembered another Bobby and that still hurts him like hell, I bet. I lay my hand on his shoulder as a consoling gesture but he shakes it off. He truly is such a butch sometimes. I want to snort, but I guess that would be really insensitive of me right now. Even though Dean doesn't want to show it, he IS a very sensitive person. And remembering Bobby Singer still shakes Dean, even though he makes his best not to show it.

Bobby seems to notice nothing unusual, since he goes on: "So, local folklore, eh? What do you wanna know?"

The younger man clears his throat. "We're kinda investigating these present attacks in the woods," he explains, "and we'd like to know if anything similar has ever happened? And if yes, was the case solved that time?"

So apparently we're going straight to the point. I am nodding next to him just to look like I know what I'm doing, too. I am glad to let Dean handle the questioning; he's far more experienced in this kind of stuff, even if I've watched hours of Supernatural.

Bobby has taken seat on the couch opposite of the one we're sitting on, and he leans forward. "That's a really good question," he ponders, "no wonder FBI is more talented than our local force." There is a mildly sour tone in his voice as he talks about local authorities, but what bugs me is that he knew us to be "FBI" and I try to remember whether Dean mentioned any of that via phone or in the introductions.

Now is Dean's turn to squint and lean forward. "How didya know we're with FBI?" he asks Bobby, but he just tosses his head backwards exposing his wrinkled skin under the chin and gives another one of his gruff laughs. "No worries there, agent," he says after he had straightened his expression, "my niece just happened to call me today, just to inform me about you, that's all."

"Oh," Dean sighs and for some reason he sounds a little disappointed to me.

"But back to the subject," Bobby says and crosses his legs. "This is not a first time something like this happens."

We both lean forward simultaneously. Not a first time? Yes, this could turn out to be useful. I feel Dean is itching to know more, but does not press it. Let the old man take his time.

Bobby tells us a story how similar attacks happened fifty years ago in the same area. Back then he had been eighteen – well that gives the answer to the question about his age, but that is irrelevant right now, I remind myself and I go back into the story to not miss any details. Back then he had been working for the newspaper, to the same one which old issues we had been reading earlier today. The culprit was never found, but Bobby got really interested in the case, so he started digging around and came across with some old Scandinavian stories about supernatural creatures.

"At this point the story turns into a fairy tale-ish," Bobby warns us, "and I won't have any proof, but I just think it is bit too convenient to ignore."

Dean glances at me and his eyes are glimmering with one thought: score. "That's an ok," Dean assures him, "we're interested in the folklore -part, out of pure curiosity. Nothing official. My associate here," Dean waves his hand towards me, "has a hobby of investigating local folklore and believes of every city we visit in business."

"Is that so?" Bobby asks genuinely curious. After I have nodded and mumbled something about how interesting I find these things Bobby returns to his story. Back in sixties Bobby had found stories of things called liekkiös – he'd be happy to spell it for me, if I wanted – and he started to investigate all known bastard newborns in the area. He found one really promising one.

"There was this merchant in the town back then," he tells us, "and his daughter had a bastard. What a gossip about a hundred years ago." He paused to chuckle. "But the baby was stillborn. And the vicar refused to bury it on holy land, for being bastard. The merchant got mad because of this and buried his grandchild right NEXT to graveyard." He laughed again. "I think the story is good," he concluded, "and since dead bastards become liekkiös, it fits the attacks. I even wrote an article about it, and it made it to the paper. The editor thought it would be great to lighten the mood."

Dean's gaze focuses. "You don't happen to remember the date it was published, do you?"

The old man nods and writes down the date to us. After that he serves us coffee and complaines about how police thought he was senile as he went to the station with his story. No wonder he sounded bitter when he talked about local police.

About fifteen minutes later we are heading back to the library – hopefully for the last time – to print the paper.

xoxoxox

By the time we make it back to the motel it is already dark. And I'm as hungry as a rugarus (the flesh eating monster-thing), since I haven't got any food since lunch.

We find Sam sitting at the table and surfing on the net. He sits in a really stooped position which implies the burns in his chest cause pain. Good thing that Sam seems like the type who takes the painkiller if he needs one – without the urgent need to show how macho he is suffering the pain. At least I hope so.

Sam raises his head is we burst in. "Any luck?" he asks as Dean sits to the opposite side me the table. I get a seat on the couch.

"Loads," his brother replies and spreads the print-out in front of him with a smug smile on his face. Sam grabs the papers and I can see his eyes following the lines.

"This is good stuff," Sam says as he puts the sheets down back to the table. "Any idea where this graveyard was?"

"Was and still is," I answer quicker than Dean. "And only few miles north from the area of attacks."

Sam nods. "That's a great place to start. Should we go tonight?"

"Whoa, hold your horses, Sammy! You ain't goin' anywhere," Dean declares and I agree with him. That wound of his is no matter of joking.

Sam looks offended. "I know I'm not much of use, but seriously, Dean, you can't go alone! Just look what that thing did to me."

I open my mouth to argue that Dean is not alone, but I close it before I say anything stupid. Of course Dean can't take me with him; I'm too inexperienced in hunting, I would only be a burden to him as he'd – probably – need to protect me, too. I have already shown various times that I'm no good in facing supernatural creatures; so far I've only been saved from them.

Dean opens his mouth, too, and for a second he looks really stupid as he tries to come up with valid argues. "I'm not gonna go alone," he says finally, and then looks at me. "I bet you can use a shovel to dig?"

Before I can even nod in agreement, Sam yells at his older brother: "You can't be serious! You can't take Iria to harm's way. She might KNOW a lot about hunting – but only in theory!" He keeps a pause to give me his puppy-eyes-face – probably to apologize for questioning my abilities. But he's right, I've never really hunted ANYTHING left alone ghost, vampires, werewolves – you name it. The argue goes on for a while and I don't really bother to participate; I don't have anything to say to resolve the quarrel. Finally they seems to decide that we'll ALL go, but I can see neither of them is satisfied with the compromise; Dean doesn't like Sam coming (and neither do I, in my opinion he should be resting) and Sam doesn't like me tagging along (to be fair, I don't really want to go. Seriously, I'm scared. Scared of the thing, it seems like a tough bastard and scared that I'll endanger us all for being newbie).

Few minutes later we all sit in the Impala, and I'm back on the back seat. The silence between brothers is deafening and makes me feel uneasy and guilty, like their fight was my fault. Well, when splitting hairs it was, but I couldn't help it.

Dean turns the key to starts and the Impala roars as her engine comes to life. The road to the cemetery is silent as... well, cemetery.

The graveyard turns outs to be old, you can tell it by just looking at worn out tombstones and unattended vegetation. Dean parks the car next to the gate. "So where do we start?" I ask to break silence. Luckily the cemetery isn't big; the beams of the Impala are powerful enough to light the whole area. Without a specific place of the grave there is still a lot ground to dig.

"I dunno. Do we have any idea where the child is buried?" Sam asks peering out of the windshield. "Even knowing it is buried just next to fence, that's a huge amount digging to do."

Dean agrees. "That man didn't say anything about the place. Wonder whether there is a gravestone?"

"And whether it's still in its place after hundred years," Sam completes the thought .Good, now they are at least talking to each other. Though I could not notice that Dean refused to refer "that man" as Bobby. That makes me sad.

We get up from the car and Dean goes to the trunk. "Shotgun with salt? Really, Dean? Look how much good it did last time," Sam sneers at his brother and gestures at his chest. Dean ignores his sarcastic tone and answers: "Last time you got hurt because me my ignorance. I'm not gonna let that happen again, so we're  
gonna take the whole collection with us; shotgun, rock salt, holy water, everything."

Sam loses his bitchface. "Dean," he starts with a serious tone, "yesterday wasn't your fault."

Oh crap, here we go again. I lean against the door, since it could take a while when brothers start the "guiltgame". I stare at the old graveyard. It really gives me the chills, or maybe I'm just imaging things since its dark. And this IS Supernatural. Now I know better than just go there walking alone shouting 'Who's there?'

After few minutes of brothers quarreling (now they've already got to the happenings of seventh season in their I'm-guiltier-than-you -arguments) I interrupt them. "Listen, guys, believe me, I know you have issues, but now's not a great time to discuss about them. We have this liekkiö-business going on, remember?" That shuts their mouths for a second.

"You're right," Sam admits and Dean is nodding next to him.

"So we take everything you have, and walk around the graveyard waving EMF, right?" I ask decisively. My voice doesn't really leave room for any opposing arguments. Again the two of them nod. Finally.

We walk around premises, but find nothing that would give away a location of an old grave. When we make it back to the Impala Sam asks: "Don't you too find it odd that there is no sign in EMF?"

I nod and Dean answers him: "Well, this thing was immune to rock salt and iron, too, I think it seems legit it doesn't leave EMF readings either." Now it's Sam's turn to nod. "That's a possibility."I say nothing. This isn't the first time the brothers are in a situation that seems to be a deadlock. But there are ALWAYS clues, if you just dig deep enough. Or maybe they just don't let us see their failures in the show? I'm not sure of that, but for some reason I have a feeling this won't be that kind of case. "Where's the article?" I ask Dean. "I wanna see it again."

"On the front seat."

I find the printed sheets from the dashboard. I've already read the whole thing – twice – but that's not the point. It is a picture I'm searching, and I find it from the second page. An old photo of the cemetery, dated 29th of May in 1915. The photo depicts funeral of some local bigwig. But there, next to fence, is a small stone upon a small hill of dirt. It could be just a mound - or a grave of a baby. I take the picture to the brothers who have been surveying me with interest.

"What do you think?" I ask them as I jab the paper in their hands.

"A bunch of black suited folk weeping over some dead guy?" Dean suggests and then raises his eyes from the picture to look at me. "So what?"

But Sam looks at the picture longer. "Dean, wait," he says and scowls, "that could be a grave." He points out the same bump I had been thinking.

"Let me see that," his older brother insists and snatches the paper from Sam's hands. "Yeah, or it could be just a random pile of dirt," he says doubtfully. "Worth checking out, though, if no one has a better plan?" He alters his gaze between us, not really expecting for an answer. "Great, so let's then find this guy's grave," he says tabbing the picture.

I pick us the shovel I had laid down as I went for the article. Finally something to do.

Finding the right grave takes a relatively long time when considered the size of the cemetery, since the gravestones are worn out by the changing weather of past decades.

Sam stands on the spot the cameraman had presumably stood and holds out the picture, shouting us directions to move along the fence."Hold it there," he finally calls, "I guess you should be standing right next to it."

I look around me. The ground looks similar to the ground all over the place. "I see nothing," I say out loud enough for Sam to hear, too. Dean kneels on the grass and runs his fingers through it. "This might be it," he says and pats the ground. "Here's a small mound in here."

"I thought it would be bigger," I say and probably sound very disappointed. It doesn't look like the thing I saw in the old picture; there is even no sign of the stone there's supposed to be.

"Well, during time the dirt tights and wears away. A lot happens in a century," Sam, who has reached us, tells me.

"Oh," I heave a sigh and feel stupid again. Off course, I should have realized that.

Dean stands up and shakes dirt and bits me grass from the knees of his jeans. "Okay, guys, I wanna hear less talking and more digging," he says playfully then puts down all the weapons he was carrying and takes a firm grip of his shovel.

The dirt is indeed really tight. It takes a good time to make a small hole because of all the roots and various-sized stones. In no time I'm running with sweat. I take a quick peek at the man next to me and notice that he isn't even puffing yet. Damn.

Sam stands leaning on the fence and holding a shotgun in his hands. His gaze wonders around the area, probably searching for signs of some kind of attack. He seems to be holding up quite nicely in spite of his burned chest. Our gazes meet for a second and he smiles to me. I smile back at him and then quickly turn to face the ground again.

After about half an hour I stand back and look at the hole we've been digging and found no infants remains yet. I wipe my forehead to prevent sweat from going into my eyes. Then suddenly Dean's shovel hits something hard, and it does not sound like another stone to me.

"Jackpot," Dean exclaims as he wipes last bits of dirt off a round object. I realize it is a small human skull, even though some parts of it are missing. Dean kneels in the hole and shovels loose dirt away with his bare hands. He hands me a next bone, probably from a shoulder. I grab it hesitatingly; I'm not sure whether the bones make me feel sick or not. Then I command myself to compose, they are just bones and that's it. There should be nothing disgusting about them. So I take the bone and set next to me so that I can grab the  
next one Dean hands out to me.

After few minutes we have collected all the bones and Dean gets up. "I'm still thinking we ought to salt n' burn those," he says nodding towards the small pile of bones.

"No," I say, "this is no ordinary ghost, Dean. None me your usual trials didn't work out, so why would salting and burning the remains?"

"I agree with Iria," Sam chips in. "If we burn them and the thing does not perish, we won't have no more bones to bury. I say we bless and bury them on holy land as we're supposed. Then we go and check that the thing is gone. If it's not... well, then we come back and try salt and burn."

Dean and I dig another grave, this time to the other side me the fence, on the holy ground.

"That should do it," Dean says as he stops digging. He straightens his back and wipes his forehead, his hand  
leaving a dirty trail on it.

"So now we just bury it, right?" I wonder. But then suddenly I realize something. "But we don't have a priest!" I exclaim. The internet source especially named that liekkiö's earthly remains should be buried and blessed by a priest. How could we forget something like that?

The brothers look at each other, and then Dean smirks and Sam looks guilty somehow. "Well, I guess we have that part covered, honey," Dean says, still holding that smirk on his face. "Nowadays there is very little you can't do via internet."

It takes a while to sink in. "Wait, what, are you telling me YOU actually are priests? Like, really?" That seems like a pretty absurd idea to me.

Sam raises his hands into repelling position. "Don't look at me, I'm not. I tried to hinder him, I swear."

"C'mon, don't be such a jerk, Sammy!" Dean protests, "If I hadn't done that, we'd be now searching for a vicar with a really weird request." He chuckles. "Though I'd like to see how that'd turn out."

I'm speechless. Well, I guess I don't need to say anything. I look at Dean, who's standing there in his dirty jeans, blue stripped shirt and army coat, and he doesn't look like a clergyman to me. Though, if I know anything about Dean he became priest just to piss off the angels, as they weren't in good terms. "Okay," I say aloud, "let's get started, shall we?"

The ceremony we hold is short and Dean heightens his words by pouring holy water from his flask on the bones. When he's done we shovel dirt over the remains and I stomp the ground tighter.

"That's it?" Sam ponders as we all three stand side by side staring at the small hill. I think that was bit anticlimactic, too. No final attack or anything. "Maybe it wanted its rest?" I suggest.

"Or maybe we should have salted and burned it," Dean mumbles, and then continues raising his voice: "Okay, let's go to check whether it's gone, 'kay?"

I'm exhausted from running around the whole day and hungry for not eating in hours, but I don't dare to complain. After we'll made sure the liekkiö is gone I'll have plenty time to sleep and eat. As soon as I sit on the seat of the Impala my eyes grow heavy, though, and I fall in sweet sleep.

The stop wakes me up. "Where are we?" I mumble and wipe my eyes. Neither of them hears my question or at least they don't answer me, just get up from the car. I follow them. The Impala is parked on the side of the road and I recognize the place to be same one we visited earlier with Dean. This is where that attacks have been happening. The hackles on my neck rise up. I have a bad feeling about this place, but I can't quite put my finger on it. At least I'm not hearing the child's cry anymore, THAT was creepy as hell.

Sam hands me a flashlight. "It's gonna be dark in there," he explains.

I take it in my hand and test the battery. As I click the button a bright beam lights the nightly forest.

"Ok, let's move people," Dean says enthusiastically, even though his movements are wary as he holds his flashlight to light up the night. I can see from his movements – as if I didn't already know from watching Supernatural – that he has done this before. His movements are almost feline.

Sam follows him quietly despite his large figure. For someone so tall he really is agile. I'm rumbling behind them and feeling myself to be really clumsy, but somehow I'm able to keep up with their pace.

Then, suddenly a bright flame lights up ahead of us almost blinding me. "I knew we should've torched the son of the bitch," Dean mumbles before screaming "DUCK!" as a ball of fire flies towards us with an unbelievable speed. I prostate myself on the ground and I can see the brothers do the same. I can hear Sam's cry of agony as his chest must be hurting him.

"Sammy!" Dean calls his brother as another fireball flies to our direction, this time passing so close I can feel its heat. "That son of bitch, I'm gonna barbecue its bones, as we should've done in the first place," I hear Dean muttering as he crawls to his brother. "Sammy, you 'kay?"

Sam groans silently before saying: "Or maybe you didn't qualify as a priest."

Good, if he can joke he probably isn't dying. Then third bolt of fire flies by us, and I can hear the child's cry again.

"Shit, we gotta get out of here," Dean says, "and find another way to deal with this bastard –"

The next fireball hits the tree right above our heads and I don't need to hear the finish of Dean's sentence. I so want to get out of this damned forest. Dean helps Sam on his feet and we start a journey back to the Impala. But I know we are too slow; I can hear the cries coming nearer and nearer. I peek over my shoulder just to see a new ball of fire approaching. "Watch out!" I cry a warning and duck on my left to dodge. But the brothers barely make it in time, and I realize they are far too vulnerable like this as they stumble back on their feet. I turn to face the liekkiö with sudden resolution. "Take your brother out of here, I'll distract it!" I scream to Dean and sprint to the opposite direction.

"Iria, come back!" I hear Dean's shouts from behind me but I don't listen to him. The liekkiö seems to hesitate a bit but then decides to follow me. I run as fast as I dare in dark between the trees and the light of my flashlight bounce from tree to tree recklessly. Then I realize monster isn't throwing fire anymore at me. I glance over my shoulder.

Nothing but dark and dead silent forest. Crap, I must have lost it. I just hope it didn't go back to brothers. I stop running as it seems pointless now. Waving around my flashlight I try to determine what would be the best way to go. I'm pretty sure I can make it back to the Impala, but should I try to find the brothers first? They might need some help.

All at once I see a burning red light from the corner of my eye. A fireball! I know I wouldn't make it in time, but I have to try anyways. It feels just like one of those nightmares where you try to run as fast as you can but some force is holding you back. I close my eyes as fire approaches me and the cry fills my ears.

xoxoxox

* * *

**A/N: I couldn't resists the temptation of using Finnish monster, yay! ^-^**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Yay, the 9th season started this week! I'm all enthusiastic about that, though I have to let you know, that my story ignores the 9th season, as it never happened. It's not an issue in this chapter, but it will be, later on. **

**And once again; thank you for reading!**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Grab anything that could be used as weapon, preferably something made out of iron**

"Dean, what are you waiting for?" the taller Winchester cried as his brother helped him back to his feet. "Go after her this instant!"

Dean hesitated. Saving the girl would off course be a priority but he was worried about Sammy, too. Luckily Sam recognized the expression on his elder brother's face. "Go, hurry! I'm alright, and well enough to kick your jerk ass if she gets hurt."

Dean knew Sam was right. "Get to the car," he ordered before rushing after the girl. Stupid prophets, always getting into harm's way. He pulled out his gun even though he knew that wouldn't do much good against the liekkiö. Yet it made him feel safer and surer of himself. "Iria!" he shouted into darkness and then stopped for a second to listen for an answer. Where in bloody hell that woman was? He really has had enough of running after chicks. Then he saw a shimmering light ahead, little bit more right from his current course, so he turned towards it. Dean had to crash through undergrowth to get to the right direction.  
He didn't dare to circle around the thick bushes as he might lose sight of the light ahead of him."Iria!" he called out again and again he didn't receive an answer. Dean pushed his way forward and then suddenly he was out of thicket just in time to see Iria being hit with fire. "Watch out!" he shouted – too late he feared – and without thinking fired at the beast that was trying to roast the girl. As before, his gun had no effect, even when loaded with silver bullets, on the creature. Dean expected the liekkiö to bounce on him and he  
couldn't have been more surprised when all it did was hovering few inches above the ground. This was actually the first time Dean saw it properly, a small figure haloed by fire, not bigger than the infant must've been at the time of its death. But Dean couldn't care less about its looks; he was more concerned about Iria. Maybe a bullet in its body would have some kind of effect? Dean decided he had nothing to lose, so he raised his gun.

"Dean, stop."

"Holy crap," Dean sighed and rushed to the young woman.

xoxoxox

I open my eyes and expect a wave of pain to hit me anytime. I'm lying on the muddy ground and I have dead leaves in my mouth. I spit them out and sit up, leaning on my hands as the forest seems to spin in my eyes. I gently shake my head get hold of the situation, and at first I only see the liekkiö. It hovers in the air, few yards from me. Why it doesn't attack? Then I suddenly realize I'm not hurt. Like, at all. I should be, I think to myself. I was hit by fire. The baby's cry still rings in my ears and I take a better look at the liekkiö. It does not look aggressive at all right now; its body pulsates with flames calmly. In its light I notice another figure.

Dean?

I'm about to ask him about Sam but the words cling to my throat as Dean raises his hand. And he has a gun. I look at the creature, still not attacking. Something feels different. "Dean," I call out for him, "stop."

He startles as he hears my voice and then he quickly glances at me. His eyes widen as I stand up and he comes to me.

"But, how?" Dean struggles with his words as he scans me from tip to toe, "I say you got hit."

I shrug. "I guess it didn't want to hurt me." Then we both turn to face the liekkiö.

"Why isn't it attacking?" Dean wonders. "Last night it jumped on us immediately we saw it."

"I dunno. Do you hear the cry now?"

Dean shakes his head in denial. "Nope. Maybe it likes you?" he suggests.

Yeah, maybe he's right. Then I remember to ask about Sam.

"He promised to kick my ass if I didn't go after you."

I snort. Typically. "Any idea what does it want?"

Dean shakes his head. "I dunno, you're the one who hears it. Maybe you should try to ask it." Dean still looks wary and holds his gun in position it is easy to fire quickly, if needed. Despite the serious – and possibly dangerous – situation I can't help myself and roll my eyes at him. "Yeah, let me just fetch my English-dead baby-English dictionary and I'll ask it about tomorrow's weather."

Dean chuckles. "Okay, I'll try it then." He carefully approaches the liekkiö, but he hasn't taken even his second step before the creature bursts into flames much greater than a second ago. Dean quickly retreats to his original position and holds out his hand protectively, ready to push me away if the thing attacked. But his precaution is vain as the higher flames die when he backs up. "Okay, so it sure doesn't like me," Dean says and scowls as he probably tries to figure out the liekkiö's behavior.

I push Dean's hand away and take few steps forward. No reaction. I take few more steps.

"Iria —" Dean starts but I lift my finger to silence him. "Aren't all its victims male?" I ask Dean and after he nods I continue. "I bet it only kills men." I take two more steps. Now I'm almost right next to it and it doesn't feel hot, only pleasantly warm. I hold out my hand to touch it and it does not burn me. "Amazing," I mutter and the cries grow louder in my ears. Then suddenly the small hand grabs mine and I try to yank my hand away, but its grip is too firm. I shout surprised and Dean takes a hasty step forward. "I'm okay, stay back!" I yell at him. It does not hurt me.

Then I feel a weak but demanding pull in my hand. Obviously I'm supposed to follow it. It leads us through the dark forest, me holding his hand, Dean following behind us not to piss it off again. As sudden as the pull was is the stop, too. I look around me and see nothing special around me. Then the liekkiö disappears into the thin air. I blink.

"That son of the bitch," I hear Dean's voice behind me. "Where did it go?"

I have no idea, and I guess Dean is not really expecting for an answer. I shrug anyways. We turn on our flashlights, though they're almost unnecessary; the first light of the new day already glitters above the trees.

Then Dean's cell rings scaring god out of us both. "Holy crap, Sam," Dean answers to the phone, "You almost gave me a heart attack."

I can hear Sam apologizing on the other side of the line, then asking whether we're okay. Dean gives his brother a short summary about the happenings of the last hour. I actually stop listening to him and look around me. What is so special about this place that the liekkiö wanted to show me? Then my eyes catch a glimpse of something on the trunk of the nearest tree. I crouch next to it to get a better look. Someone has carved a cross on the bark. "Dean, look at this."

"Wait a moment Sammy," he says to the phone then takes it off his ear. "What?"

I point on the carving. Dean leans forward to examine it. "If that is what I think it is, we have wrong bastard's bones buried."

It is already a late morning when we finally find another infant's skeleton buried under the tree. Dean whistles. "Wonder who's this one was."

"Apparently someone's who is called Truman," says Sam, who came with us as we went to the Impala to pick up shovels, and points the trunk of the tree. I take a closer look at it. He's right, there, almost covered with moss lays the word, situated under the cross.

"I'll be damned," Dean murmurs. "Doesn't that sound awfully familiar to you?"

I nod. "What a coincidence."

xoxoxox

"But if it isn't agent Anderson, how can I help you this time? Where's your lovely associate?" Bobby asked as he answered door.

"She didn't come this time," Dean said boldly and waved towards Sam. "But he's special agent Bourne, and we'd like to ask you few questions concerning the crap you fed us last time."

Bobby blinked. Dean wasn't quite sure whether he looked surprised or guilty. "Excuse me?" the old man managed to say.

Dean looked him straight to the eyes to make him squirm. "The liekkiö isn't the merchant's bastard, is it?" he asked and observed his reaction. This time there was guilt in the man's eyes, he was certain of it.

"I have no idea what're you talking about," he tried to explain, "all the stories of the liekkiö are purely hypothetical –"

"You can cut the crap, we've seen it." That shut him up, Dean noticed contented.

"And the grave at the woods," Sam added stepping forward, "Mr. Truman, just tell us what's going on, please."

"Suddenly the old man broke down in front of them and burst into tears."So you know," he managed to say.

Fifteen minutes later the brothers sat on the same couch Dean had sat with Iria earlier. Bobby sat on another couch, facing them. He had red eyes and he stared over their shoulder as if trying to avoid their gazes. "So what do you want to know?"

"Everything," Sam said, trying to sound friendly. "Who is the skeleton in the forest? And why? What was its reason to morph into liekkiö?"

The older man glanced at Sam but quickly adjusted his gaze back to the wall behind them. "So you really DO believe in the liekkiö?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

"Yes. As I said, we saw it."

Bobby nodded like it really would make a difference. "You're not with the FBI." It wasn't really a question but Sam shook his head anyways. "Who are you?" he insisted and pulled his beard between his thumb and index finger.

"That's not really one of your concerns," Dean snapped at him. He was tired with this small talk already; he just wanted to know who was buried in the forest so that they could get rid of the liekkiö. After that he'd eat a juicy burger and sleep for a day. He was exhausted. Sam glared at his brother to make him shut his mouth. Why he needed to be so harsh all the time? Sam could see that the elderly man would share his story with them if they were discreet. Yelling would do no good. For once the older brother seemed to  
understand and said nothing further letting the younger one to deal with the guy. Dean crossed his legs looking sulk. Sam ignored him and continued picking Bobby Truman's brain.

"The bones in the woods belong to my sister's bastard," he started the story. Half an hour later he finished and by that time the Winchesters had learned the whole story. Fifty years ago his sister came pregnant in age of sixteen. She never agreed to tell who's the bastard was. "You have to understand," Bobby pleaded, "times were different back then, having a bastard was a scandal. My father insisted she'd abort the baby before the gossips started, but my sister refused. No matter how furious father got she had made up her mind. So my family hid her to our cottage in the woods until she delivered her baby." But their father had never intended to let the baby live. When Bobby's sister was weakened by the birth, father stole the newborn from her breasts. Bobby burst into tears, again. "He took me with him when to the woods, and he... he killed the baby. And I helped him to bury him." Bobby sobbed and hid his face in his wrinkled hands. "I couldn't leave the baby like that," he confessed, "so I marked his grave."

Dean whistled. "No wonder that baby holds a grudge," he said aloud.

"Then the killings started, right?" Sam asked. Bobby nodded. "It took me a while to connect the attacks and the child's death, though. But when I saw the thing, I knew what we had made. So I wrote the fake article to hide our tracks. My sister never forgave us, though. Shortly after she was strong enough she fled from  
home. I haven't seen her since."

"After you learned the baby had turned into the liekkiö, why didn't you give it a proper burial?" Sam asked leaning forward expecting the answer. The old man shook his head. "I didn't dare. At first I was afraid of my father and then the attacks stopped. After my father's death I didn't pay much attention to the case, to prevent feeling quilt, I guess. But now..." he paused to swallow, "now that the attacks have started again... For so many times I thought about it, but I never quite pulled my socks up on that matter."

"That was one helluva story," Dean said to Sam as they walked through the garden to get back to the car. "Yeah," Sam agreed, "but now we at least know we have the right bones."

"So let's go and bury them, shall we?"

They picked the same old graveyard to bury the bones, since there it was more likely that no one came by asking some uncomfortable questions. Digging the grave took some time, as Dean had to do all the work himself – Sam was in no condition to help and they had left Iria to the motel. The girl had been so exhausted she barely could stand on her feet. Not that Dean felt any fresher himself but he was far more used to it than Iria. She had only been into this stuff for a week or so, even if she knew a great deal of supernatural stuff. Thinking about the different dimensions made Dean's head hurt. "Freakin' angels," he cursed under his breath as he sunk the shovel into dirt.

"Did ya say something?" Sam asked him curiously.

"Nada."

When the grave was deep and wide enough Dean placed the bones into it. "For _dust thou art_, and unto dust shalt thou return," Dean chanted and poured some holy water onto the bones. The whole ritual made him feel stupid. What kind of ghost didn't require salt and burning? he wondered. "Holy shit!" Dean exclaimed as the bones started to burn on their OWN.

"Dean, what did ya do?" Sam cried and leaped forward.

"Nothing, I swear!"

Sam opened his mouth to argue back but then they both heard baby's cry. "Okay, I guess you didn't do anything after all," he said instead. As he spoke the baby's cries turned into crows of happiness. "I guess we did it right," Dean said his eyes wide open as the crowing and the flames faded away as abruptly as they had started. "Yeah, probably," the younger Winchester agreed.

Thirty minutes later they made their way back to the motel's yard. "Man, I'm gonna sleep for twenty four hours," Dean told his brother as he opened the door to their room, only to find out it was empty. "Son of the bitch, did she disappear AGAIN?" Dean cried out of frustration. So no sleep to the Winchesters. "Cas, you'd better get that feathery ass of yours here in this instant!" Dean shouted. He needed something to punch.

Neither of the brothers could have been more surprised as Castiel really appeared in front of them in one flap of wings. "Iria needs you," the angel declared before Dean nor Sam could say a word. Then he zapped them away leaving the motel room as empty as it was before the arrival of the brothers.

xoxoxox

As soon as they left me in the motel room I peel my dirty and sweaty clothes off me and crawl under the sheets. Oh, how the bed feels sweet and divine! Despite my hunger I decide I'm more sleepy than hungry. I eat only a chocolate bar I got from the vending machine outside. While eating it I think about the liekkiö and how it had actually been kind to me. It didn't burn me even though it had a change but lead me to its remains. After all it just wanted help. I wonder whether it had asked help from all of its victims, but none of  
them had understood it. Maybe they didn't hear its cries, as the brothers didn't. I swallow the last piece of my chocolate and hope that brothers manage to give the spirit the rest it desires.

I lay my hand beside my pillow to make sure the gun they gave me again is still on its place. I fall asleep my hand on the cold steel.

Then I wake up and I have no idea how much time has passed since I fell asleep. There is still light outside and the brothers haven't come back, so I guess that I couldn't have been asleep for more than few hours. I wonder what woke me up as I notice a figure by the window. In a flash – actually much quicker than I thought it would be possible for me – I draw the gun and point it towards the shape. "Who are you?" I ask and notice that my voice doesn't tremble at all. I wonder whether I am already getting used to the supernatural stuff.

"You don't have to point me with that." I recognize that deep murmur. "Castiel?" I ask and lower my gun as the angel steps forward. His hair is messy and he looks tired to me. "I'm sorry to interrupt your sleep, but you have to come with me now."

"Wait –," I manage to start before he reaches his hand toward my forehead.

And I open my eyes in a completely different place. I blink but the angel is nowhere to be seen. "Freaking angels," I mutter and look around me. I know where I am even before the voice calls me from behind.

"Iria? You scared the hell out me! How did you get in?"

I turn on my heels to face my sister, Amy, and wonder in which reality I am right now. "Well, that is kind of long story –," I start again but never finish my sentence since in a single flap of wings Castiel appears in front of us. FUCKING angels.

At least the sudden appearance of Cas solves my problem about the universe; My sister shrieks and grasps my arm frightened. Then she inhales loudly and whispers: "Holy crap, is that Misha Collins?"

The situation makes me want to giggle. How am I EVER going to explain this to her? "Err, not quite," I say to her and then give the nastiest glance I can to the angel. "Nice timing, Cas." My poisonous tone seems to confuse him and after a short pause he says: "Sarcasm, am I correct?" I don't think now is a good time to educate an angel of the Lord about human behavior, so I ignore him.

Instead I turn to face my sister and give her a hug. "Long time no see, sis." When I let her go she alters her gaze between me and Castiel. "Mind telling me what's going on?" Unfortunately Castiel is quicker at speaking, and I guess he didn't realize the question was addressed to me. "I needed to bring Iria back to her own dimension as Crowley has been tracking her. This is only temporary, though, I'll take her back as soon as it is possible."

Amy raises her other eyebrow and turns to look at me with a really confused expression on her face. "Where did ya find this nutcase?"

I shrug quickly. "Technically I didn't find him," I tell her and then pause to have time to think about what to say next.

"You have a Misha Collins look-alike with you, dressed as Castiel down to the trench coat and all, babbling about Crowley," Amy enumerated. Shit, I should have known that she, too, has watched enough Supernatural to catch all that even when surprised like we did surprise her by suddenly appearing in her apartment – one more point to add in the list of annoying things about angels. "You doing cosplay or what?" she concludes.

I bite my lip. How much I can tell her without making her call doctors? I sit down on her couch to buy  
more time. "Well, you have read enough fanfiction, right?" That seems the best way to start my bizarre story that even I wouldn't believe if I hadn't lived through it. After Amy has nodded I continue: "And you  
know that they have different dimensions in Supernatural, like in French Mistake?"

She nods again. "Yeah, so what?" Amy glances at Castiel who is standing in front of her bookshelf staring intensively at a small angel figure she has standing there. "I gotta give it to you, he's good."

"Well, that's because he's Castiel. I mean like really. Wings and all," I tell her. I didn't mean to blurt it out  
straight like that but the words came out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Amy chuckles – is that a good thing? At least she didn't doubt my sanity offhand – and then turns to look at Cas again. "So, if he's Cas, who are you?"

"The prophet of the Lord," I answer her. If she's going to think I'm doing some cosplay, I'd better at least tell her some true facts. The best lies are seasoned with a little truth, right?

Now she laughs. Good.

"Your sister seems to understand the situation quite quickly," Castiel murmurs and I hope he won't blow my cover story. "Now that you are safely in here, and I don't detect any demonic activity, I take my leave." That's when I realize he's about to teleport away. THAT would be awkward and not easy to explain to Amy.  
"Cas, wait – " But I'm too late, again, and in a blink of an eye Cas is gone. And my sister got a jolt. "He disappeared." That was all she managed to say. I guess I have no other choice than tell her the whole story.

So I start from the very beginning, from the night I woke up on the back seat of the Impala.

xoxoxox

"That's impossible, you're nuts," my sister states as I conclude my story. I sigh. I knew it would come to this if I told her the truth. "I know it sounds unbelievable," I try to reassure Amy, "but you saw Cas disappear in front of your own eyes."

She shakes her head. "I don't know what I saw, it might have been some kind me trick." She stops for a while. "Was it? Just some trick to freak me out? It's not even April's Fools, or anything."

"It wasn't a trick."

"Iria, you are scaring me. Listen to yourself! Supernatural is an awesome series, but that's all it is!"

I bite my lip again. This isn't going well. "Maybe it's not real in here, but the other dimension –" I start my sentence but Amy doesn't let me finish it. "It's impossible," she tells me again. "You are feeding me crap  
about travelling with the Winchesters for few weeks, but I spoke with you no later than yesterday over the phone."

I wish that Cas would come back and use his angel mojo to convince my sister, but knowing angels they don't come when asked. Well, except of you are Dean Winchester asking for Castiel to come. And in the later seasons even that haven't been guaranteed. "Time seems to flow differently in here than there. Or maybe it's just because of angels, I don't know. Yet, only a little time had passed in here as I had spent days in there."

"Yeah, right, and next you're telling me the color of Dean's underwear or something."

I cough as I remember the other day at the motel when I had seen much more than just the color of his underwear, but I don't think it is a good idea to tell that to Amy right now. Though, if she believed me she would be SO jealous. Even though she always preferred Sam's puppy eyes over Dean. Instead I just shrug. There is very little more I can tell her to make her believe me.

That's when the door bell rings. "Don't open it," I say immediately as I don't intend to leave the apartment before Cas comes back. Amy snorts. "Don't be ridiculous." And she goes to the door. Behind it stands a man, probably in his late twenties, wearing a black suit. "How can I help you?" Amy asks him as he just stands there in completely silence. Then he turns his head towards me and I know it's here after me. "Amy, close the door!" I scream as I draw the gun out from its place under my belt. Good thing it teleported with me, though I'm not sure whether it does any good against a demon or whatever the thing on the door is.

Amy glances at me and notices the gun. "What the hell, Iria? Put that thing away!" she cries.

"You know nothing of hell," the man – presumably a demon – says and steps inside pushing Amy out of his way. I hear her gasping for air she notices that the man's eyes are black. I bet she believes me now, though I have now more important matters to deal with – for example a demon craving for my blood – than to tell her "I told you so".

"You made a good run," the demon says as he steps forward, "I bet you got little help from your feathery friend. Too bad he's not here now."

I remember Castiel told me there was no demonic activity nearby and I curse him as I aim my gun at the demon. But he only laughs. "That's not gonna help you, bitch."

"Yeah, but we're going to."

The voice makes the demon turn around just in time to get the holy water on his face instead of his neck.

"Dean, Sam!" I cry relieved and feel tears burning in my eyes.

The demon shrieks in agony and it's not before that I notice Cas. He has his spear in his hand and he pokes it into the chest of the demon. When it is gone my feet finally collapse. That was a close call once again. I lay my eyes upon the brothers and the angel beside them. "Demonic free, my ass," I say bitterly to Cas but my tone is wasted on him, again, as it seems to slip from him. Instead he says: "Crowley is getting better at disguising his underlings, I didn't detect that one until it revealed its true identity while attacking you." He lifts the body the demon left behind as easily as it was sack of clothes and not a corpse of full-grown man.  
"Dean and Sam will protect you while it is unsafe to return."

Dean squints. "Cas, you can't just throw people through space and time as you desire."

Cas tilts his head. "It is for Iria's own protection."

"And we'll be having hard time to protect her as –,"

Castiel seems not to be listening to him since he suddenly says "I must go now" and flaps away – again.

"—as we don't have our gear with us," Dean concludes his sentence. "And I hate it when you do that!" he shouts into thin air but Castiel does not return. "That freaking angel," he mutters and grabs my hand to help me back to my feet.

"Are you hurt?" Sam asks and steps forward, too. I shake my head. "How long was I gone this time? And what about the liekkiö?"

The brothers take a quick glance at each other before Sam answer me. "You couldn't have been away more than few hours, tops. The motel room was empty as we got back."

"And that bastard's been take care of," Dean adds. I smile. My first case as hunter has been solved successfully.

"Where are we, by the way?" asks Sam and I remember Amy again. I push Sam – gently, as I don't want to hurt his burns more than they must already hurt – from my way. Amy still stands by the door, looking  
shattered and opening and closing her mouth as a fish on the dry land, unable to speak. "Amy, are you okay? Not hurt?" I ask worried.

She shakes her head. "What the hell just happened?" she finally manages to ask me.

I smile at her faintly. "I told you, demons are after me."

She looks at me like I was crazy, yet says nothing. I guess she is having hard time to adjust to the situation –believe me, it is hard. I know she needs time to get used to it since I went through the same process as I was teleported to the Supernatural reality few weeks ago. "It... It was... a de.." stammers Amy.

"A demon," Sam helps her finish her sentence. Amy looks at him with wide eyes. "You are Jared Padalecki,"  
she states and her eyes – if possible – widen even more and her breathing gets heavier. I step next to my sister as I realize she's having a panic attack. I lead Amy to the couch. "Sit down," I say to her and then call out to the brothers: "Get me a paper bag or something." Few minutes later Amy has calmed down enough and she sits still on the couch and stares at the brothers. Both of them stand next to the couch and I can see they are squirming under her intense gaze.

"So, let me introduce you to the Winchester brothers. I bet you know which is which." She nods. I turn towards the two men. "Sam, Dean, this is my big sister Amy."

"Umm, hi," Sam says diffidently. On the other hand Dean greets her with a wide smile. "I hate to rush you, but we'd really could use some salt. You have any around the house?" I give a look to Dean under my eyebrows so that he'd not push it too far, though I understand how necessary the salt is; it might be our  
only protection since brothers don't have their hunting stuff with them. "I'll get it," I tell him. It's not the first time I've visited my sister's place; I know where she keeps her salt. I find the package, but it's not much. Luckily the apartment has only two windows and one door. The salt could just be enough. I hand the salt to Sam and he says nothing about its scarcity, only starts spreading it in front of the window.

"You got anything made of iron?" I ask her but as I expected, Amy shakes her head. "I'm not reckoning with demonic attacks," she attempts to joke. I smile at her quickly and then ask Dean: "So, what now?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure. We are pretty unprotected in here, yet this is the most safe place with salt on the door and windows. I'd say that one of us, meaning me or Sam, goes out to get some supplies." He pauses for a second and ponders. "Actually, I'm going. There's no need to strain Sam more than necessary." Then he reaches his pocket and pulls out some money. "Damn," he mutters, "Hey, Sam, how much cash you have with you?"

"Around twenty bucks."

I, too, reach for my pocket. "I have twenty five," I say and hand over the bills to Dean.

"These will have to do," Dean sighs and gets up. "Where's the nearest store?" he asks Amy.

"Just few ten yards down the street," she answers, "and I have thirty dollars in my wallet, if you need more money."

And so Dean leaves us. He promises to come back as soon as possible with more salt and some other supplies. "I wonder our cells work in here," he says before leaving and pulls out his phone. "Yep, this baby is  
fine with service and all." Then he chuckles. "I bet that Jensen Ackles guy pays the bill." The thought seems to amuse him.

After he left Sam looks at my sister. "Can I use your laptop?" he asks gesturing towards the table the computer stands on. As Any nods Sam gets up from the couch he was sitting – and I notice my sister checks  
him out as he goes to the computer.

"Whoa, that's disturbing," Sam exclaims and I turn my head to look what's up. And I burst in laughter. Amy's wallpaper is a rather cute picture of Jared Padalecki – a spitting image of Sam.

I can see Amy's face turning into bright red before she buries her head into her hands. "Sorry!" she mumbles between her fingers. I can't help it but laugh louder. Even Sam's face is starting to redden. "Don't worry about it," he says and gives one of his best puppy eyes to Amy – making her blush even more, this time in a fangirlish way. "You couldn't know we were coming. To you my face," Sam pauses to look at the picture again, "is just an actor and a character in a TV show, right?" We both agree, even though I don't think about the Winchesters that way anymore. Spending so much time with then has surely messed up  
my idea of them. It kind of makes me wonder, will I ever be able to watch Supernatural anymore; in the case I'm allowed to return here permanently one day. Maybe after I have fulfilled my duty as a prophet?

Sam clicks the internet open muttering something about not showing this to Dean or he would laugh his ass off. "What's this Google thing?" he suddenly asks.

It takes few minutes to explain Google to him, and during that time my sister's face returns to its normal color. "Do you want something?" asks she, "Tea? Coffee?"

When we tell her coffee would be nice, she goes to the kitchen to prepare that. I, too, get up from the couch and go to stand behind Sam. "What're you searching for?" I lean over his shoulder to get a better view. "You're reading about Supernatural?" I scowl. "Why?"

Sam shrugs carelessly. "I thought it might be interesting. And it seems they have followed our lives precisely. Like, even more than Chuck's Supernatural books in our reality."

I nod. "Well, they sure didn't tell how boring the research part might be," I joke, but I guess Sam's right. The viewers of Supernatural have a wide view of different points of views where the brothers only know the  
stuff they experience. "So in a way I might know more about your world's happenings than you." I scowl again. "That is baffling."

Sam agrees, and then clicks open another Supernatural site. Then I realize something. "Umm," I hesitate as I try to think about proper words, "there might be some sites you don't wanna visit. Such as Tumblr." Sam  
glances at me. "Why?"

I giggle. "Because of the fans. You read some fanfiction about the books back in your own dimension, right?" After Sam nods I continue: "Well, it might get worse in here, since fans here have footage." It takes a while for Sam to get what I mean, but I guess he finally does as he blushes a bit and mutters "Oh".

Then Amy comes back carrying a tray that has three steaming cups on it. She hands one to Sam and another to me. Then she takes her cup and sits back to the couch. "So what are we talking about?" she asks  
crossing her legs and takes a sip of her cup.

"How Sam should not visit Tumblr," I smirk and taste my coffee. It's strong, but good. Maybe caffeine will cheer me up; even though I slept for few hours I'm still sleepy as hell.

Amy understands my meaning immediately and she bursts into laughter. "Yeah, maybe if my wallpaper makes you feel uneasy, you shouldn't visit the fansites." I can't see Sam's face as he is faced towards the screen, but I can see his ears are burning. I feel pity for him. I know it is probably not easy to be left alone with me and my sister; we might be excruciating when we're together. For example, I'm rather shy when I'm by myself, but when I'm with my sis... Well, that's another story.

Instead of further discussion of fanfiction we change the subject to hunting. I demand to know details of the liekkiö-case as I wasn't with the brothers till the very end of it. "It was Truman's bastard niece," Sam tells me and gives me a short account of the happenings. I'm glad that the spirit can rest in peace now.

"So are you a hunter now?" Amy asks. I'm not sure. "Am I?" I ask Sam, tilting my head. Sam leans backwards in his chair and crosses his hands around his chest, but quickly removes them as a wave of pain flashes through his face. Damn, I almost forgot about his injury; he's way too good in hiding his pain. I ask Amy for a pain killer and Sam tries to refuse it first, but he takes it anyways. "I don't know," he finally answers to my question, "I don't know whether there are any qualifications you have to fill before becoming one. Like, I mean, most of hunters I know became one after losing someone to something supernatural. But you didn't."

Amy is about to say something as the door bell rings. We all startle. I guess I'm bit jumpy after that demon incident. "It's probably just Dean," Sam says as he gets up. He pulls a gun out of somewhere inside his jacket – so they didn't end up in here completely unequipped, it would seem – and pushes its barrel against the door. "Dean?" he calls trough the closed door.

"Open up, bitch!" Yep, that is definitely Dean – or then a really great imposter. Apparently Sam makes same deduction as he opens the door. Immediately, as soon as the gap is wide enough, Dean rushes in and pushes the door closed behind him. "I'm never going out in here again," he states, "that's insane out there."

We all stare at him.

"How many people watch this show anyways?" he demands to know. "They almost ate me alive, and not in kind of way some monster would."

I blink. "Someone recognized you?"

"No, worse," he sighs, "they thought I was this Jensen guy."

Sam burst into laughter. "Not funny!" Dean snaps at his brother. Suddenly Amy having Jared Padalecki as wallpaper seems a lesser problem. It didn't even occur to me that someone here could recognize brothers as actors they look like. But now that I think of, it makes perfect sense.

"How many people there is watching this show?" Dean repeats his question.

"About 2 million," Sam answers him.

"How do YOU know?"

Sam shrugs. "I've been googling."

Ignoring Dean's amazed look – I'm so not going to explain Google all over again – I add: "And that is in US only; there are other countries showing Supernatural, too, and not to mention people who follow it via net."

"Wow, you people are sadistic," Dean mutters.

"Come again?"

"C'mon, just think about our lives; all the shit we've been through, and YOU find it entertaining?"

I know he has point, but I also feel kind of offended; I used to be as entertained by Supernatural as any other fan of the series. And I DON'T think myself as a sadist. I guess Amy feels same way, too, as she snorts. "To the fans of the show you are fictional; they don't enjoy seeing you getting smashed, they enjoy a  
good story and the best kinds of stories have plot twists in them." She pauses for a moment. "Though I'm really sorry that you've been through all that, it must've been tough."

"Tough, you say?" Dean says and I can hear irritation in his voice; the same tone he used on me when I first  
appeared in his car. I try to think of a way to calm him down before he pours it all down on my sister. Luckily Sam is quicker. "C'mon, Dean, calm down," he says, "I bet she didn't mean to offend us."

"What?" I see that Amy is astonished. "Of course I didn't mean to offend you! I just... dunno, tried to tell you I'm really sorry?"

I rush to agree with her so that Dean would not scold her further; I know she didn't mean anything ill with her comment – now that I know the brothers ARE real, I feel sorry for them, too – and I also know Dean is really difficult person. Though he might seem to be the cool guy with a mocking attitude and I know he really is rather sensitive under there. And he can be a total jerk, too – Sam's words, not mine – and refuse to listen any other explanations and reasoning if he has made up his mind about something. And now I fear he has decided that my sister is mean or something – just like he refused to believe my story in the beginning as he thought I was demon or nuts. What a stubborn guy he is. "Seriously, Dean," I say to him, "let it go."

He gives me one of his nasty looks but he doesn't say anything further. But he crosses his hands around his chest, which gestures that he's not about to let the subject go that easily. But instead of further arguments he starts then unpacking the groceries he bought. Sam gets up from his seat next to computer to help him. "What did ya bring?"

Dean shrugs. "The usual stuff. Salt, canned food and this." He pulls out a short poker. Made out of iron would be my educated guess. "Too bad I didn't have enough money to buy more of these." He waves it  
in wide arcs for a test. He also brought a huge sack of rock salt that he places on the dining table and tears open. "This ought to be enough."

Sam nods besides him. "It would probably be a good idea to carry salt with you all the time," he then tells me and Amy. "Put it in your pockets or something."

So I stuff the pockets of my jeans – except the one that holds my newly acquired cell phone – with salt.

Dean turns to face Amy – apparently he's professional enough not to argue further while doing business. "You don't happen to have a rosary around here?"Amy shakes her head. "Nope, I'm not very religious," she answers, "though I might have to refine my points of views now that I know about angels and... stuff."

I chuckle. I have the very same problem, though I'm not sure whether God exists in here, but apparently he does exists in another dimension at least. The thought makes my head hurt – again, since it is not the first time I've thought about theological questions after the angels brought me into the world of Supernatural. And once again all the troubles seem to trace back to the angels – I am beginning to understand why Dean despises the crowd.

"Well, I guess if you had one that would have made things way too easy," Dean mutters and draws out his flask from its place in his pocket. "I'm almost out," he tells us as he shakes the flask. I can hear the dash of holy water waving around the interiors of the flask.

"You don't have any kind of crucifix around here?" Sam asks Amy. "Jewelry or something?"

Amy's about to shake her head, but then she freezes in the middle of the movement. "Wait," she says. "I have my confirmation necklace. It is a cross, will that do?" We've both been confirmed, though we don't belong into the church anymore. Of course she had her necklace, still. I have mine, too, though I have it home. Amy goes to her bedroom and returns in two minutes carrying the small cross. "Here." She hands it over to Sam.

"Is it silver?" he asks examining the pendant. Amy nods. "Even better. Now, we'd need few containers, as big as possible," Sam continues.

Within few minutes the kitchen table is covered with few large bowls, kettles and bottles of various sizes that are filled with water. Sam stands next to the table, waving the silver cross above the bowls and mumbling something incomprehensive – most likely Latin – and every once in a while he drops the crucifix into a different bowl.

"Homemade, delicious holy water," Dean declares cheerfully. "Really refreshing, unless you're a demonic son of a bitch."

After Sam's finished there is very little we can do to strengthen our protection, so we just gather in the living room. I and Amy sit on the couch, Sam by the computer and Dean stands; he seems to be too stressed to sit down."I wonder how long it will take Castiel to return," Amy wonders and I can't help but  
notice that she still struggles with saying aloud the angel's name; I guess she's still bit shaken up by the knowledge that he's real. "Since, you know, I have work tomorrow."

Oh, yeah, right. It would mean trouble for her if she didn't show up.

"Yeah, you know what?" Dean asks and I really don't like his tone. "Demons know your sister – who they are after – is in here, so you can't really leave the apartment before we're outta here. So call in sick."

Sam gives his brother a look that is screaming "Behave!" but Dean shrugs in answer. "You don't want to put your sister in that kind of danger," Dean continues and his tone is softer now. "The demons could kidnap you to lure Iria to them." I should have seen that one coming; from all the people the Winchester brothers  
understood best the lengths I would be willing to stretch myself to save my sister – and vice versa, I'm sure.

Amy takes a quick glance at me and I know she is thinking the same; the Polley sisters would climb Hell  
and back for each other. And knowing Supernatural that's not an easy task. Amy nods. "I can be three days away from work without any uncomfortable questions."

"Let's hope that's enough," Sam sighs.

xoxoxox


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry about the late chapter, I was bit busy last week. ^^'**

**And once again, I'd like to remind you, that the fic takes place in mid 8th season (that's when I came up with the story), so bear with me if there is something illogical or something conflicts with the real story line. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Find more salt**

I lay on the bed which I share with my sister and stare the ceiling above me. It has already been two days since Castiel dumped our asses in my sister's apartment, and we haven't heard of him since. The brothers, especially Dean, are growing more and more impatient. I'm feeling uneasy, too, between four walls, unable to go outside, but they would have more important matters to do, such as hunting things that are hurting people, trials to encounter. Instead they are stuck in here, a wrong dimension with a prophet-to-be and her sister. Must be super.

The good thing in waiting for the angel to return is that Sam has time to recover from the burns. Though I've heard him coughing, and I know that has nothing to do with the liekkiö-case. Something is tearing him apart – from the inside. Speak of the devil; I hear him couch again in the living room he sleeps with his brother. I get up from the bed, quietly so I won't wake up Amy, and leave the bedroom.

"Morning," I whisper to him and glance quickly at Dean who snores faintly on a mattress next to the sofa Sam's laying.

"Mornings."

I ask him whether he's okay, though I know he's going to say he is.

"I'm okay."

I snort. "Yeah, sure, don't bullshit me," I tell him. "I know you're coughing blood. It should freak you out."

Sam sighs and wipes few locks of hair away from his face. "I keep forgetting you know too much about my life." He looks at me. "At first it did scare me, though," he confesses. "But not anymore. I think I'm being purified." He pauses for a second. "You tell any of this to Dean and I will flay you," he warns me.

I chuckle. Does he really think his brother is stupid enough not to notice? I keep my views to myself and  
say: "Sure, whatever. You want another pain killer or something?"

Sam shakes his head. "No, I'm good. The burns are already healing fast."

That's truth, at least, I can tell just by looking at his bare chest – apparently the brothers sleep with full clothing or with very little clothing (not that I mind), but they don't seem to know any middle way in that matter.

"Morning." Amy comes from her bedroom and yawns. "Breakfast, anyone?" she asks and I notice she's eyeing Sam. I giggle in very fangirlish way and tell my sister breakfast would be nice. Sam looks at me, one eyebrow raised but I gesture him to ignore me.

Apparently my giggle woke Dean up, at least now he is in a sitting position stretching his arms. It takes me less than second to notice he is dressed similarly as his brother – scarcely. My eyes fix upon his tattoo, and I wonder, once again, whether I'd need one of those. If demons attacked, I'd rather not be possessed.

I follow Amy to the kitchen and help her prepare some food and coffee. Suddenly Amy scowls and grabs my hand. "At which point Sam and Dean are in the storyline?"

At first I don't understand her question. "I popped into the Impala at some point after they killed the  
hellhounds," I tell her as I realize she means whether the brothers have lived though the current storyline of the series."Okay, so that is episode that aired two days ago," she answer me. "What happens if the next episode comes before they get back to their own world?"

And that's a freaking good question. I have no idea what's going to happen if things go to that. "Will I appear into it?" I wonder. "As some kind of side story?"

Amy shrugs. "It would probably break the pattern," she tells me, "you know. Sam and Dean are spitting images of Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles. You haven't been anywhere near Canada to appear in the show – unless you haven't told me." She smirks and I laugh at her, denying all the possible trips to Vancouver.

After the breakfast – which contained bacon, beans, yogurt and coffee – we all sit on the couch.

"Soon I'm bored enough to actually go outside, screw the crazy fans," Dean sighs and taps his fingers against his knees. Sam's about answer him as a silent flap of wings interrupts him. We all recognize the sound and turn around as one. "Cas!" three voices cry out simultaneously and Dean adds single "Holy crap!" to emphasize the word. He also jumps up from the sofa and hurries to the angel as Sam, I and Amy are too stunned to move.

I stare at the angel and notice he wobbles a bit. Castiel doesn't seem to notice Dean before he grabs him  
by shoulder."Cas, you okay, man?" Dean sounds worried.

Castiel tilts his head to meet Dean's eyes. "Hello Dean," he murmurs before collapsing onto his arms.

"Cas!" Dean cries and before I can even notice Sam stood up he's next to Dean. "Help me carry him to the couch," Dean commands his little brother and together they lift the angel up. As they do so I see that Castiel's trench coat's back is soaked in blood. I'm not sure whether it's his, but I say anyways: "He's bleeding."

When the angel is placed on the couch I help Dean to strip Cas from his coat and jacket. Apparently not all the blood is his, but he has several nasty looking cuts on his back. But surely the angel wouldn't be  
affected by something like that, unless...

"Someone must've used one of those angel-killing spears on him," Sam completes my thought.

Dean brushes his fingers against the wounds, making the other man – can angels be called that? – moan silently.

"Cas?" Dean calls him out – this would so be one of those fanservice scenes in the show, but I'm too concerned by our current situation to think about that now – and Castiel opens his bright blue eyes.

"Dean," he grunts, "where's he?"

"Who?"

"Crowley." His voice is weak and he closes his eyes again.

Holy shit, so now the King of Hell himself is after us? I push my hands against my pockets to make sure I still have the salt with me. The containers with holy water have been scattered around the apartment, so that they would be on hand in case of a demon attack. I guess even Crowley can't get in with all the salt on windows and door, though he is bastard mean enough to come up with a plan to screw up such precautions.

"Can angels bleed to death?" Amy asks fear in her voice, and I'm pretty sure she's not worried about ruining her couch; she's smart enough to know that Castiel's our best protection against demons.

Sam shrugs and frown between his eyebrows deepens. "Normally not," he answers, "though I'm not sure; his wounds must be from some kind of special weapon, otherwise he'd just heal them in a snap of his fingers."

Dean sighs. "C'mon, don't you dare die on me, man." He gently shakes the angel from the shoulder. "We have to stop the bleeding," he says especially to no one. "I need towels or something."

Amy turns on her heels and rushes to her bedroom where she keeps her linens. Soon she returns with  
pile of towels.

It takes up the better half of an hour to stop bleeding and wrap the angel in bandages. The whole time Cas is unconscious, or at least he doesn't open his eyes. It takes another thirty minutes before he wakes up. Despite his wounds the angel gets up as soon as he opens his eyes. "Has Crowley been here?" he asks with his usual husky voice before any of us could ask him anything else.

Dean shakes his head. "No demonic activity while you were out," he tells Cas. "You okay?"

"I'm functional enough," Castiel murmurs an answer. "Your position here is endangered," he continues. "Crowley knows you're here, so I need to reposition you." Again, as he has done many times before, he does not wait for an answer before zapping us – I so understand why the brothers are not too fond of angels. I close my eyes in my sister's apartment only to open them in the familiar backseat of the Impala. I  
blink again to get more time to adjust into the situation. Dean sits in front of me – I can see his puzzled gaze from the rear mirror – and Sam occupies the front seat. And on the backseat are squeezed I, Amy and Cas sits between us. "What the fuck?" she whispers and she seems to be most confused – well, this is the first time an angel zapped her from point A to point B.

"I think we're back on the motel," Sam guesses."That's correct," Castiel states and we all turn to look at  
him. "But you need to get away from here as fast as possible. Crowley knows you are back in this dimension, though I hope he doesn't know your position yet." Then he flaps away, again. Oh my god, that is so annoying. He could at least explain himself a bit, not just disappear after throwing us around from world to another.

"Welcome to Supernatural," I tell my sister. She looks shocked, and I can't help it but chuckle. I must've had the same expression as I first time appeared into the Impala. She even has things better than I had, as she knows what is going on where I had no faintest clue. I and my sister wait in the car with Sam as Dean goes in the motel to pick up our things. It takes him less than five minutes; I guess the Winchesters are used to last minute travel deals. "So, now to Kansas, right?" Dean asks as he starts the engine. Sam and I nod but Amy asks: "What's in Kansas?"

"Men of Letters," I tell her, though I guess she would have figured that out pretty soon on her own, too.

And so we leave Winchester.

xoxoxox

I love the hideout.

All its chambers, corridors and rooms full of books and other awesome stuff. Seriously, I found a room full of SWORDS. And not just some tiny, a-bit-larger-than-a-closet -sized room, but an enormous one. How cool is that? I've been exploring the bunker of Men of Letters for few days, most of the time on my own, but sometimes with my sister or one of the brothers. When we first time arrived here Dean gave us a pretty extensive tour through the place while Sam went out shopping for supplies (yays for fake credit cards as we used the most of our cash back in "home"). But since I don't have anything better to do, I've been wandering in the corridors and peeking into rooms as I found new ones. At first Amy tailed me everywhere – I guess she's still bit spooked by the idea of being in a different dimension – but then we found this room full of books, and I mean FULL, from floor to ceiling and she has spent most of her time exploring through the books. I like books a lot, too, but I find the swords – for example – more interesting.

I have no idea how long I've been wondering around as the walkie-talkie that hangs from my belt comes to life.

"Iria, you copy?" Dean's voice crackles calling me. It was Sam's idea to use walkie-talkies inside the hideout as our cells don't have signals in all of the places. So I grab the talkie in my hand. "Yeah, I'm here."

After few seconds of silence Dean answers me. "Good. Come to the hall, we have dinner ready in here."

I feel a slight sting of quilt. I really haven't helped much in "house works" since we arrived in here. I decide that I'll volunteer next time for the kitchen duty and head my steps to the lobby where the huge table stands. I smell fried chicken from far away and my stomach grumbles suddenly – I haven't even realized how hungry I was. When I get to the lobby everyone else is already there. "Geez, what took you so long?" Dean wonders as he notices me, "Did ya find more swords?" He smirks at me. Dean found it extremely amusing that I was so enthusiastic over the blades. For a second I consider giving him the finger, but luckily I realize that would be too rude (technically this is their home – at least the thing closest to home brothers have had since they were small – and I'm their guest here. They could throw me out, if they wanted to, though I doubt whether they'd do that under any circumstances; they have principles). So I settle with sticking my tongue out at him.

"Whoa, that was mature," Dean chuckles as I sit next to him on the table.

Chicken is delicious and I devour my portion quickly. "Anything new about the investigations?" I ask Sam.

He has been searching Men of Letters' archive about prophets. Sam shakes his head and then runs his fingers through his hair to array his coils back to their proper places. And while doing that he looks something out of the L'Oreal's ad. I notice Amy's staring at him, too, and I hope she does not start  
drooling – that would be awkward.

"Though I wound some new promising books," the taller Winchester continues and waves his hand towards a pile of books on the other end of the table. Good thing that the table is so large; that way we can keep the investigation stuff separated from our food without always tidying away the books before the meals –  
that would be a pain in the ass and take a lot of time. Maybe I should help the brothers to browse through to the books. After all, it IS me they are trying to help, and all I do is wonder around investigating SWORDS. So after dinner I stay at the hall and pick up a book called "Prophesies and their meanings – a study of omens and whether they were fulfilled". Wohoo, that could actually be interesting, if the text wasn't as dry as the Sahara in the summer. I yawn after just few chapters.

"What, tired already?" a voice asks me suddenly, startling me. I raise my head from the book to meet Dean's gaze. He has sneaked from the behind – I didn't hear him coming. He sits on the edge of the  
table.

"Not really," I snap at him. "And I don't remember you being too fond of the boring investigation stuff, either."

"Yeah," he answers stretching the word, "Sammy is more into pansy stuff like that." He nabs the book from my fingers and runs his gaze through the page I had opened. "Aaw, that truly is boring crap." He tosses the book to the table so that it flips closed.

"Hey, I was reading that!" I grab the book and browse through pages to find the one I was reading before I  
was interrupted.

"C'mon, you have time to read that later. I wanna do something else first."

I raise my other eyebrow at him and he cracks me another one of those dashing smiles of his. Small lines appear into the corners of his eyes as they always do when he smiles, and I'm sure my heart skips few beats.

"You, too," Dean says and pats my sister's shoulder. For a moment I feel like I could snarl at her, then I  
realize I'm being stupid.

Amy, too, abandons her book and follows Dean. Sam decides to stay in the lobby. "I have some investigation to do," he says and gestures up to leave him alone.

Dean leads us to the staircase and few stores down from the lobby. We arrive into a long corridor. "Where're you taking us?" Amy asks Dean, but instead of answering Dean pushes a heavy-looking metal door open.

A shooting range opens before our eyes. Of course they had one of those in here. "I wanna see that you  
can defend yourselves," Dean explains us, "since we're on a demonic hit list." The range is a wide room with concrete walls and seven individual shooting booths. One wall is covered with all sorts of weapons; everything from small handguns to shotguns. I even see few freaking crossbows hanging on the fall. Dang it. I'd want to try one of those out, though I guess they are not very effective against demons.

"We really haven't had time for this before," Dean says picking few shotguns from the wall, "since you appeared for the first time to my car. And now we even have one more inexperienced member in our  
team." He hands the shotguns to me and my sister. "Here you go, the most effective firearm against demons and spirits; shot gun with rock salt ammo." He chuckles. "Try not to shoot me or each other."

I take the gun in my hands and snort to Dean's last comment. We'll see about that. Our father has made sure we know how to fire a gun – though I've never shot a short shotgun before – so I have pretty good idea what I'm doing. Our father is a hunter, though his game is pretty different from that of the brothers'.

I slip the hearing protectors over my ears and pick the closest booth, load, aim and shoot. On the booth to my left Amy does the same.

The shotgun kicks my shoulder harder than I expected yet I think I made a decent shot; I hit the target, maybe not to the bull's-eye, but anyways. I notice that Amy didn't miss her target, either.

Dean whistles. "Not bad. You sure you haven't done this before?"

"Who said anything about not doing this before?" I ask him innocently as I load the gun again. Now it is my turn to chuckle at his confused expression.

After that Dean makes sure we know how to load and shoot few different weapons and shows us few practical tricks I had no idea about (such as how to disassembly a gun. I've actually never done that  
before) and after an hour or so my arms are hurting from the kicks of various arms – I even got to use the bow! – and from the weight of the guns. Those bastards are HEAVY; it is not easy to hold them in a right  
position for long time intervals. Though Dean – and Sam, too – seems not to have that problem. Maybe I should start doing pushups or something?

"I guess I've seen enough," Dean finally says as he hangs up the guns back to their right places. "And I must say you two could be worse."

I peek at Amy and I see she's feeling proud, too. Though he never said it, I know that Dean had his suspicions about our skills with guns. But I guess it's not something people normally can handle. I send a silent thank you to my Dad for telling us this stuff – seriously, I wasn't keen on it when he taught us – so that I didn't seem like a total newbie in Dean's eyes today.

As we climb back to the lobby we find Sam from exactly same spot as we left him. "How did it go?" he asks without raising his head from the book. Then I realize he was in this, too. "You two had this planned, didn't you?" I ask them, and Dean's wide grin and Sam's apologetic smile and puppy-eyes are an answer good enough.

"It was necessary," Sam tries to explain himself and I burst into laughter. Soon Amy joins me. Now both of the brothers look confused.

"You got us wrong, we're not MAD," Amy explains, still laughing. "Nope," I agree with her and wipe tears from my eyes. "You could've just asked if you wanted to know if we knew how to hold a gun." And now they both look guilty.

Sam clears his throat. "So, anyway, how did go?" Dean gives him the thumbs-up. "If given a shotgun, they are more likely to hit the demon than the hunter next to themselves."

I take the same seat I was sitting before Dean dragged us down to the shooting range and pick up the book. For the rest of the evening we all sit by the table, investigating. How thrilling is that. Only pause is provided by Dean who gets up from his chair and asks whether anyone else would prefer a drink. Sam declines the offer but I and my sister nod, so Dean soon returns with two beers and two bottles of cider. "I didn't know which you liked better," he says to my sister and shows her the bottles. As I expected, Amy picks the cider, too. I'm impressed that Dean remembered I don't drink beer and take the cider he offers to me. Then he tumbles back in his chair.

Around half past ten I call it a day, say good night to everyone and leave for the room the brothers gave for me and my sister to sleep. Amy follows me, too. The room is small, but it has own bathroom and two single beds, on opposing sides. There's a small desk, too. And it also leaves me more own space than I've ever had when travelling with brothers. I strip of my clothes and slip a t-shirt I've used as pajamas over my head before crawling under the sheets. The gruff sheets make me wonder whether there is somewhere a storage room full of clean sheets. And if there's a laundry room. I'd really like to wash my clothes in a washing machine; washing my clothes in a sink of some stinking motel isn't quite the same.

"Augh, my arms hurt," Amy complains as she climbs in her bed. I nod. "Mine, too," I tell her. Hopefully Dean doesn't want to repeat today's exercises tomorrow; I'm not sure whether I'd be able to hold the gun up straight enough to shoot properly. The thought also scares me; if the demons were to attack tomorrow, how'd I protect myself? Hiding behind a back of a Winchester isn't really honorably. Though it's better to be a coward than possessed or killed, I think. I wall asleep quicker than I thought was possible.

The next morning I wake up early – well, considerably early, I tend to like to sleep in late – and notice that my sister's already gone. So I get up, wash up myself and put on the same clothes, black jeans, army green sleeveless shirt and boots, I wore yesterday as they don't smell bad – yet. I really have to find that laundry room, maybe Sam or Dean knows where it might be – they have spent more time in here than I've. And for some obvious reasons they haven't shown the possible laundry room in the show. I brush my hair and tie it up and hang the walkie-talkie to its place before leaving the room.

I find my sister from the kitchen, where she's frying eggs. "Mornin'," I yawn at her and remember my yesterday's promise to help more with chores, so I start helping with preparing breakfast. "You seen Sam or Dean?" I ask Amy as I chop a tomato.

She shakes her head.

Dean and Sam find their way to the lobby about half an hour later. By then we have the food ready, and we sit there, sipping coffee and gossiping about everything random.

"Morning ladies." Dean sounds enthusiastic as he takes seat and pours some coffee to himself. "Did ya sleep well?" Sam yawns widely as he sits next to his brother – that makes me ponder how late they stayed up last night and whether that's wise for Sam in his condition. But I promised him that I'd not babble about it to Dean – though I guess he already suspects his little brother isn't OK – so instead I smile and answer to Dean. "Like a baby."

After we've cleaned the leftovers from the table I resume to the same chair I sat yesterday and open a random book from the pile Sam has gathered from the library. After just few minutes I put it down. "What're we even supposed to search for?" I ask especially from no one. "Like, we already know WHY I'm here and that demons are after me and other prophets. So why bother with investigating? Even if there  
was a way for me – and Amy – to return our own dimension, Castiel is most likely just pop me back in here."

Sam sighs. "Well, that is the case. Gathering information, though, is never in vain. We could find a  
way to hide you, probably in your own world, or we could find something usefull –"

"— or we do this because there's not much else we could do," Dean interrupts his little brother. "By all means, if you want to reconcile to the will of angels, do so. Just let me know, so I can stop reading this stuff, too." He tosses the book he was reading to the table with a loud thump.

I blink. That's not what I meant, not at all. "I didn't mean it that way," I mutter at him.

"Oh yeah? Cause it sounded like that."

"Dean." Sam's tone is settling.

"What?" the older Winchester snaps at him.

I really don't get it. What's up with him?

"Okay, I've had enough of angels and prophets." Dean stands up so hastily that his chair falls over with a loud bang and then he storms out of the hall to the corridor that takes to the bedrooms.

"Oh, right, angels," Amy mutters next to me. I look at her, confused. "Destiel," she explains to me after seeing my gaze. Oh right.

"What's Destiel?" Sam asks, but before neither of us have time to think a proper answer, he a chuckles. "Yeah, right. Dean and Castiel; Destiel." Sam looks at us, and he looks amused, with a faint smile on his lips. "It's that obvious in the series?"

So Sam knows. I look at Amy and we nod simultaneously. It is obvious.

Sam stands up and picks up the chair his brother left fallen. "I guess I should go after him," he tells us, but  
I stop him. "No, I'll go; I'm the one who pissed him off – though I didn't intend to – so I guess I should apologize, too." So I follow Dean, leaving Amy and Sam alone. I know she doesn't mind; she has hots for him – well, for Jared Padalecki, but Sam's probably the next best thing.

I reach the door of Dean's room, which is right next to the room we've stayed with Amy. There's no answer as I knock, but the door isn't locked either, so I step in. I find Dean standing next to his desk, staring at  
the old photo of his parents that leans to the lamp. He raises his gaze as I step in and I can see the lines on his cheeks. Has he cried? That surprises me more than it probably should.

As he recognizes me he gives me a faint smile. "I was expecting Sam." Quickly he wipes the corners of his eyes, most likely to hide the tears.

I give him an apologetic smile. "He was coming, but I stopped him. I wanted to say I'm sorry, though I didn't mean to cause no harm."

"Nah, don't worry about it," he says waving his hand. "I'm just bit highly-strung, it's nothing personal, I assure you." Now he smiles at me more genuinely.

"I'm just confused," I confess to him. "Dunno what to do, you know?"

"Yeah, angels do that to you. They're dicks." There, again with the angels. Man, he has issues.

Then, all the sudden, he steps forward and KISSES me. Holy fuck. I'm utterly surprised and for few seconds I just stand there, doing nothing. Then I realize to answer to his kiss. Dean's lips are just as soft as I thought they'd be, and he pushes his palms gently on my neck. As wonderful as it is, however, I pull myself free  
from his grip. I bite my lip. "I'm not sure –"

He places his index finger against my lips, interrupting me. "I've just wanted to do that for some time," he says smiling so perfectly it makes my heart ache.

And in that instant I forget every argue I might have had about why we shouldn't do this. Instead I find myself gasping: "Me too." Then I kiss those smiling lips of his, and he immediately answers by slightly  
opening his mouth.

Oh yes, I must be in heaven.

xoxoxox


End file.
